


Erotica

by Lachanophobic



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Bad Flirting, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Drabble Sequence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fanfiction, Humor, Internet, Romance, Satire, Shorts, Smut, Strong Language, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic
Summary: He's a fanfiction writer that writes smut like a man. She's a reader that hates smut written by men. Especiallyhis smut.He hides a secret.And she will do everything in her power to expose him.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 539
Kudos: 544





	1. Prologue - That "two-bit of a porn scribbler" and Mrs. Grammar Nazi

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this idea swirling around in my head for a while. But writing another long fic with all the wips I have on going was out of the question. So, I decided to keep every chapter as short as possible. A slice of life back and forth that we know all too well. It's also intended as satiric piece, dedicated to all the haters, bad commenters and haughty writers out there 💪
> 
> If you have some fun anecdotes you'd want to see in the fic. You can share them in the comments section below ;)
> 
> Also, super thanks to [Ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake) (go read all her beautiful works!) which sided me in this crazy thing, pulling out suggestions and encouragement from her magic fairy hat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

It had happened on a Saturday night, in December, when the lights of the flat were out, and all that remained of the day were fingerprints and doodled smileys on frosted windows. 

Cocooned in a flannel peignoir, rimmed glasses firm on the tip of her nose, she had started writing, furiously, on her laptop. 

_"Honestly, why don't you_ **_tag_ ** _your stuff? I clicked on the link expecting realistic_ **_romance,_** characters with **personality**. All you ramble about for twenty chapters, instead, is how the hero submits the heroine ramming his _massive_ cock in her perennially wet slit. 'Cause every girl would fall for a total _chauvinistic_ asshole with a superiority complex. _P-l-e-a-s-e_." Lolling her head in a satisfied nod, she sent out the comment, slapping her laptop shut and disappearing under the thick covers of her bed. 

The next morning, while sipping her macchiato and not before checking her bank account for a salary that systematically never came in on payday; Bulma scrolled among her mails, finding - as she expected - the infamous response of the author.

 _'Get your eyes checked,'_ was all it said. She paused, reread the reply twice, and retrieved her sipping. A frown inched progressively to the center of her forehead.

_You won't get away with this._


	2. That lucky, wet rosebud they call cunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem, so here's the second chapter of this demonic thing. I want to underline, as I will in every chapter; that the ideas, thoughts and opinions displayed in this fic are a mesh of 'generic blunders' commonly considered awful in the writing world. Which I collected reading articles and whatnot.  
> I invite you to take everything with a grain of salt, and enjoy the fic for what it is. 
> 
> That said, enjoy ;)

She wished she could just file what she had just read as _error 404,_ and wipe it away from her mind. 

Instead, she had felt the atavic need to share it with the little forum of readers she was part of. _"Seriously,"_ she wrote _, "this guy has over 30k followers on social media. And they all fap to this!"_

The copied and pasted paragraph roused a wave of hilarious comments, exactly what she had hoped for.

> _Chapter 21: Hot, hot, heat._
> 
> _Desert. Hot. Hot like the rock hard, massive rod that she took in her hands. She fondled and abused his family jewels with dreamy eyes as a thank you for freeing her from slavery. Before taking the majestic wood in her wet cavern she sighed in bliss. It was so big and shiny. It reminded her of the obelisk in the square of her hometown._

[...]

_"LOL!"_ _DualDyed replied, "That's totally every slave out there. They all thank you with a blow job."_

Bulma curled up her mouth, satisfied. _"And have pocket dimensions in their mouths, since this chick can apparently turn hers into a carven. Lmao."_

A side of her found _solace_ in having _sidekicks_ that shared her mutual distaste for that scribbler's piteous works. She couldn't be the only sane person that saw horror in those lines _. "And the tags? #romance, #falling in love, #eventual smut, #angst. Where's the eventuality in a fic that's all porn? I'm so going to leave a comment later in the day."_

She had been asked _why_. Why did she waste her time spitting fire in the comment section of someone that wrote sex like a drunk ape? Maybe because she _taught_ creative writing in a professional school, or because she couldn't stand that _Princeofsmut_01_ ' _popularity'_ was built on spreading the notion that having a misogynistic, unhealthy relationship is fine so long as you have a big, hard cock at hand. Or again, simply because she _disliked_ his virtual persona that much.

Starting from his self-conceited attitude in his responses. Totally rejecting constructive criticism through gratuitous offense. 

During lunch break she sat in the school canteen, graciously forking a cube of feta from her colorful minty beetroot salad. Burrowing into the collar of her warm roll-neck sweater, as a gust of vernal wind tickled at her nape, she pushed back her glasses on her nose. It was time to finally give _him_ a _real_ piece of her mind. This time she didn't leave a comment, to evade annoying _fans_ from ganging up on her to shield their virtual monarch from verbal attacks or vaguing her on social networks. She stepped on a different battlefield: _direct messages._

Of course, she was no idiot, and had made sure to follow his social profile under a different nickname. Thus, _galickkamehameha_ which was her official internet persona, had morphed into _kinkymistress34._ He hadn't followed her back, _of course;_ he followed _nobody._ However, his inbox was more than reachable. 

She would approach him like a fan, and then, strike when he'd least expect it.

Chewing on a cracker, she sent out her first _frivolous_ message _. "Hi! Omg! I was so shy to contact you but I have to tell you else I'm going to explode… the last chapter of Lascivious Beast"_ she snorted, while typing that _"was so splooshy. I had to take a cold shower. I'm your number one fan!"_

And she sent it out.

As the day went on, and she busied herself with house chores and grading class assignments comfortably swathed in her favorite blanket, the message slowly had left her mind.

She was taking a shower, when her phone vibrated with a social notification.

She stuck out a hand out of her steamy cabin and swooped the text open.

There was a single question.

_"Are you a woman?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Rogue for betaing!


	3. The shrine of the King of all Dicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who left hilarious comments under this trashy fic. It received so many kudos that it left me hang-mouthed for hours. I love you all! And enjoy the third chapter ;)

_"Are you a woman?"_

She blinked away a few drops of water and got out of the embracing warmness of the shower cabin. Grabbing her phone, she padded toward the salon, where the hot comfort of a crackling fire awaited her. 

Her mouth twisted, unsatisfied. But she composed a couple of new messages, nonetheless.

" _If my slutty nickname is any indication_ ," but she canceled it. Sounded too salty. 

" _Yes, I'm a girl. Do you want to ask me questions about realistic female anatomy?"_ Argh, she wanted to get him right now. But she had to keep up with this farce a bit longer, for the sake of her plan. Thus, removing the last part, she added " _why do you ask?_ " Seasoned with an unnecessary amount of heart emoticons. 

He read her message immediately. But… never replied.

She combed her hair, got in her pajamas, had dinner, read a couple of decent fanfictions but still he hadn't replied.

In the end, shrugging it off, Bulma just turned off the lights and went to sleep.

However, sleep didn't come. She kept tossing and turning, blinking an eye open toward the mute phone each time the night stand entered her field of vision. _It bothered her_. Why wouldn't he respond to a _woman_? She told him she was _a fan_ , didn't she? Was this dude truly such an _asshole?_

Her legs hurt and prickled with irritability. Which forced her to toss her covers off and sit up. She took the phone again, and started to compose a new message. 

_Princeofsmut_01 is typing…_

She almost flung her phone across the room. He was going to reply _now?_ Right now? Like, fuck. He had seen her _typing._ Like a needy bitch. But wait… wasn't that her cover? To appear like one of those _exhausting_ chicks that send you an avalanche of texts if you don't reply back immediately? 

_"If you're here to bust my balls with women’s rights and all that bullshit, do me a favor and block this account."_

Her mouth parted open. 

What a _cyclopean_ piece of rotten shit! She breathed in and out, trying to keep a cool head. That misogynistic cancer of a man needed a cultural beat up. And she will give him just that! Even at the very cost of creating a thousand accounts just to insult him.

 _"I highly doubt a self-important dick like you could have any balls left to bust."_ Was her only response. To which, much to her _gratification_ followed _his_ reply.

_"I'm currently growing a third one thanks to annoying people like you."_

So she wasn't the only one that _bothered_ him about his fics. Judging by how defensive he got upon discovering her gender, meant he was probably used to this. Surprising. His comments were always full of lobotomized supporters hungry for poorly written sex. 

" _That's your smutmaster majesty's doing. If you stopped morphing female genitalia into drooling porn caves, you would still have a human amount of balls._ "

No matter what she wrote, he grew exasperating by the second.

" _Drooling porn cave is the next synonymous I'm going to use_." 

Before she could type back a reply, though, he wrote a new one, which unsettled her.

" _Stupid women like you come to me preaching about how unrealistic the sex I write is. Yet, you fantasize about being taken by force, tattle about cock sizes and ‘marry’ 2D characters that could kill you in your sleep. If I'm mistaken, go ahead and prattle. I won't give a fuck anyway._ " 

That unsettled her so much that she couldn't think of an immediate comeback. Not right away at least. 

For that reason, she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthie, as usual, for her suggestions and beta!


	4. The Evil 'Husbando' that makes all pussies tingly

She had joined the fandom two years ago, and from that moment onward, embraced it as her own creature. It was called _Dragon Square._ A manga, later anime, that already conquered the love of millions and millions of people worldwide. 

The plot was nothing special, it followed the adventures of a young boy and his eternal struggle against evil. A mix of sci-fi and fantasy in which the protagonist, flanked by the unique characters he met during his trip around the world, had the ultimate goal to find seven quadrangular scales that belonged to a powerful dragon that could grant every wish. 

Full of fights and adventure, but also _romance._ Well, the romance fans saw in their dreams, at least. In the first series, she was smitten with one of the secondary characters, _Earlgray_. A cutely drawn bandit dubbed by one of her favorite voice actors in the animated version. Useless to say, she had shipped him with her beloved female lead since day one: _Panty_. The true heroine of the series, and the beholder of the three B's: Beautiful, Brainy, and Bold. She had bought every kind of possible merchandise for them. T-shirts, fan manga, and had even commissioned artwork. 

However, her virtual love for Earlgray and the ship sank at the very beginning of season two. When the author introduced _him. King Herb._ Evil, ruthless, and greedy for power. The antagonist of all the antagonists. He was so appreciated by the female audience that the author had decided to keep him after the final battle against the protagonist.

Throughout the series, he had become more and more redeemable, adding an organic and fascinating development to his already complex character. By the end of the third season, there was _no soul_ that didn't ship Panty and Herb. Except for the author, he refused to make the couple canonical. 

It didn't really matter, their chemistry was so obvious that every single fan fiction story talked about their epic love in a way or another, creating unique and engrossing stories. She had read them, enjoying every second in the fandom… until he came: _Princeofsmut_01_. 

That idiot had reduced _Panty_ into a useless slave, horny twenty-four hours for _Herb,_ that not only was _totally_ out of character; but also the worst, misogynistic asshole of the century. _A pitiful self-insert_ , she deduced, judging from the messages of the above-mentioned, wannabe _Prince._

But it wasn't the lack of respect for the characters that irked Bulma the most. She had stopped considering them ' _those' characters_ after the first paragraph. It was the absolute nihilism that exuded from every line Princeofallsmut_01 wrote. And the mockery it made of serious writers... _like her._

She hadn't written much, just a couple of one-shots and some character analysis, that _definitely_ leapfrogged style-wise and content-wise that stupid, smutty piece of trash. 

That horny homunculus was a rising star for writing shit like:

> _He took her virginity like a warrior, skewering the thick membrane of her fleshy dartboard with powerful trusts. She screamed "more" as she stared at his badass, rippling muscles vibrating with strength. Panty blushed, thinking that she didn't want this, but at the same time, couldn't resist that overbearing masculinity tearing her down there. He had come ten times already and she was covered in the sparkling liquid of penis-mayonnaise. But she was greedy and wanted more. Wanted to be bathed in that white milk and drink it like a baby. She opened her legs more and rubbed her fishy flower against his big, swollen and damp spheres. "More, more, more. Make me pregnant with your baby!" She yelled, tingling all over._

She woke up suddenly, her eyes startled open to the dim light of the dawn. Rubbing away sweat from her forehead, Bulma sat up, still trembling. Heart racing in her throat. She had had a nightmare, a nightmare in which she was the slutty Panty written by that asshole, and a crazy serial killer pounded into her like a horny dog. "Might as well get up." She shuddered, twisting her mouth into a disgusted grimace. 

Coffee. She needed a big cup of it. But not before bidding good morning to her favorite man.

She opened one of her closet's doors, there, a full-scale picture of _King_ _Herb_ saluted her with an angry, cartoonish frown. She bent forward to kiss the picture.

'... _And ‘marry’ 2D characters that could kill you in your sleep._ '

As the message flashed up in the back of her eyelids, she withdrew and banged closed the closet door. 

Why had he said it like that? Like it was something abnormal? Weird? 

It was not. 

Suddenly, she knew what to reply to that motherfucker. 

She scrambled for her phone, took it, and typed in her conviction. "Better marry a 2D murderer than fawn over a thousand assholes like you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing, as usual ❤️


	5. Wicked and megalomaniac: just like his porn

"...thus why describing action is preferable to the mere usage of a sole adjective." The school bell chimed as she spoke her last word, concluding the day. Proud of having finished her lecture on the dot, she flapped her textbook closed. "I'll see you tomorrow, and don't forget to compile the questionnaire I handed to you." 

As the last kid left the class, the straight-arrow that had been her spine curved under the weight of old habits. Hurting shoulders sagged and she sank in her chair with the grace of a whale. Rubbing her eyes, Bulma removed the rimmed glasses from her nose, basking in the silence that had finally settled in the room after hours of teenager's chattering. But her good mood didn't last long. 

That morning, after she had instinctively sent out the message, _Princeofsmut_01_ had replied with a sybilline rebuttal that had occupied the forefront of her mind all damn morning. 

_"I bet my monthly income on the contrary. I live in West City."_

Why? Why would he _specify_ that last detail? Did he spy on her or something? Was it a threat? A subtle way to tell her he knew where she lived? Her body, all of it, had started shaking at the thought. But, her rational side pondered. It might have also been a cheap trick to make her reveal her current location. Maybe he was a _stalker,_ or worse. 

The best solution would be blocking his account. However, _curiosity_ , a side of Bulma that she had tried to push down more than once in her life, always seemed to surface at the worst possible time. 

So, instead of behaving like a proper citizen - or even adult - and steer away from trouble, she dove in it with a double pike. 

Her fingers had been faster than common sense. " _Lol."_ And she made sure to mark that 'laughing out loud' in bold letters _. "Are you asking me out?"_

And after that, he had disappeared for weeks. No messages. No updates on fics. Simply gone.

As the days went on, she had returned to read old fics she had left behind in order to pursue that man's carcinogenic writing. She had found solace self-immersing into healthy reading. Had even started writing a new one-shot, moved by the splendidly-crafted works of her favorite authors. However, somewhere very deep down, in the obscurity of her subconscious, something bothered her.

It was absolutely accidental. One snowy day, she found herself scrolling through his profile, out of boredom. And it was also accidental how she ended up reading one of his old posts.

**Prince** \- @princeofsmut_01 • 3 December. 

I'm writing a one-shot for that detestable commercial festivity you call Christmas. Obviously, smut. 

Here's a spoiler.

> _"Exactly. I'm asking you out."_
> 
> _She was charmed by his defiant attitude, by that sexy, masculine stud that had just chosen an ugly peasant like her, among thousand and thousand of beautiful princesses drooling over him._
> 
> _"Oh, Herb!" She said, trembling and blushing, "I can only offer you my virginity in exchange."_
> 
> _"That will be enough." He replied, stripping off in front of everyone, showing his powerful wet cock that shone like a sword in the sunset of the main square of the city, right under a horse statue. A week before Christmas._

Her lower lip dropped, literally, detaching itself from the upper one like that of a broken puppet. That… was her reading too much into that, right?

In no way that asshole could have written that stuff _just_ to publicly mock her. _No. He totally_ _can and would._ Because with so many reblogs, even if she didn't go to his profile, she would have received the message loud and clear. 

Not only a misogynistic prick but also a show-off!

 _Sure_ , she snickered. _This is the nice story of the dumb chick he thinks I am, that would go on a blind date with a potential catfish. And wait for hours for a person she hates in front of a horse statue, under the snow,_ at 5 pm.

It was 4 pm on the incriminated "date" day. 

She boiled a steamy pot of hot chocolate, sat in front of the TV, and watched her favorite drama.

\---

"And even this month, we made it in time." One of the guys sitting around a large table bonked his head on the wooden surface, the black circles under his eyes spoke about dreadful all-nighters and liters of excessive caffeine in his system.

" _Maestro_ , this chapter will sell like hotcakes! You've outdone yourself!" Someone else said, probably out of his mind.

"Are you sure you want to close with this kind of cliffhanger? If you kill him off, fans will hate you."

He swiveled on his desk chair, wiping the remnants of dried up ink from his fingers. "I don't pay you to tell me the obvious." He got up, removing thick-framed, angular spectacles from the tip of his nose. 

"Get that shit out within the day. I'm leaving." He rubbed his tired eyes once, then proceeded to slip into his black coat. 

"Maestro? Where are you go-"

The door slammed behind him, and he curled up his mouth into a contumelious curve. 

"To guess who's my date." He whispered to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ruthlesscupcake 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️ as usual


	6. Birdwatching, below the waist

"This is _ridiculous_! I'm going home."

"Nonono! Wait!" She tried to fight off the impulse to crouch down when her hands stilled on his shoulders. "Listen, I know you're uncomfortable with this, but it's just for a few minutes. Pretty please, _please_?" 

The short, bald man in front of her grimaced and turned away, tching at the big papillon around his neck. Yet, he squeezed an eye open, sighing in defeat a few seconds later. "If you were scared, you should have stayed home. Nobody right in his mind goes out in a blizzard to meet a potential maniac." He rolled his eyes.

"Hey! I'm…I'm **_not_ **... scared! Just, uh, just in case it turns out bad…" she tittered, her twitchy, nervous smile was twisting her words in more ways than one, and certainly, the fact she was clinging at him like a squirming coward didn't help but… 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just a decoy. Not a good one, to boot. Do you really think I could pass for your little brother? I'm thir-"

"Shhh! Someone is coming!" They were lurking behind the horse statue like thieves, the epitome of _shady,_ and all its synonyms. The fat, thick flakes of snow that had raged for all the morning had finally shrunk into tiny, feathery white spots, allowing better visibility on the square. Being a week away from Christmas, despite the weather, streets were clobbered with people and kids coming and going. How they were going to spot that _piteous scribbler_ in that crowd was beyond her. She didn't even know who she should be looking for. 

"I must stop letting you guys buy me with the story of the taekwondo. After all… my wife is the black belt between us..."

"You're strong, charming, good-hearted etcetera, etcetera…" she waved her hand at him, not even glancing in his direction.

"That! Exactly. You're not very convincing, yet my..." 

"Oh my God!" She yelled-whispered, patting insistently on his shoulder.

"You and Goku always manage to guilt-trip me into joining your crazy expeditions to…what?"

She grabbed his wrist, easily hauling - probably to his horror - the shorter man closer, and pinching his chin, turned his head toward her target. "Look at him. I can't believe it!"

"Who am I staring at? What's incredible?" He queried, with the sad level of excitement of an old man queuing up at the post office. 

A few feet away, coming from their opposite direction and just crossing the busying street, was the closest, _perfect_ , living reproduction of her beloved hero. The sexiest 2D man ever drawn. Every geek's thirst incarnated. The tabernacle upon which every fangirl would consecrate her ovaries: _Herb_.

Well, this one was more like a pocket-sized version of the character, much shorter and a bit less… brawny. But the unmistakable shape of his hair, the wide forehead, the cut of his eyes. The way his burgundy scarf wrapped loosely around that sturdy neck, with the lapels of a dark long coat licking at barely visible jutting bones on the collar. The _frown._

"Oh." Krillin finally caught up, "Woah. What happened to his hair? Did that guy stick his fingers into a socket or- hey! Bulma, psst! Bulma where are you going?!"

She had stepped out already from her secure hiding spot and was checking her teeth on the frontal camera of her smartphone. "I'm going to hit on him." The ' _duh'_ she didn't add vibrated on her last syllable.

"B...but what about that writing dude?"

She thought about it for a split second, then shrugged "Later." Adding nothing else, Bulma straightened her back and slipped into her best men hunting catwalk.

"Wait! Oh, God. What I'm going to tell my wife now... don't get into trouble!" but she was already gone. Krillin sighed. _"Guess I'll just stay here freezing my ass off for a little while."_ He promised his wife that he'd watch over Bulma, after all. So he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102) for betaing this chapter❤️


	7. The infallible method to make him fall at your feet

Of all the days, she had to meet _him_ today! Her outfit was a far cry from _decent_. It consisted of a super anonymous button-down shirt tucked inside denim jeans, all seasoned by a red hoodie that made her look like someone who had just lost a round of Pictionary around the block. But right now, not even wearing a burlap sack could stop her from hunting down the man of her dreams. 

She was very aware of her charms and her curves. And that combo had always been enough of a head-turner. What didn't help the molding of her perfect spider web was her stomach somersaulting with every step she took forward. The slight trembling of calves, and the exhilaration beating in her chest sort of turned back time, to when she was just a teenager drooling over the guitarist of her favorite boy band. The feeling was the same, and she knew how stupid her reasons would sound to the very man that was slowly walking opposite to her. But she didn't care. 

When he'd be close enough to feel her gaze on him, and instinctively look up, she would flash the man her most seductive and cheeky smile. Then casually bump his shoulder and apologize and…

He passed her. 

He _moved past her_ without even raising his gaze. Not even noticing her. No head-turning. No timid glance. She stopped in the middle of the square, swiveling on her heels to look at his back, wide-eyed. He didn't even check out her ass! Maybe… maybe he wasn't into women? Or was she _that_ unattractive or...o... old? Was she so _old_ that she had lost her ' _power'_? She heard her own voice _scream_ in her head. 

A sudden rush of embarrassment, mixed with anger and disillusionment smashed the sturdy bastion that had been her unwavering self-esteem until that moment. The sudden desire of revenge overlapped with disappointment, taking over and goading her to crouch down in the snow and scoop as much snow as her hands could gather to form a snowball.

She raised her gaze, adamant on her target.

Ignoring Krillin on the other side of the square that was waving his arms overhead, probably intimating her to stop.

She threw the ball at the stranger like a baseball pitcher. Hitting him straight on the head.

But contrary to the movie in her head, in which he turned, noticed her, and fell _unrealistically_ in love… he dropped on his knees, fell face first in the snow… and didn't move again.

Around her, people started to mutter and gasp. 

She brought both her hands to her mouth. _Oh my God. Oh my God, I killed him! I killed him! How…_

Krillin had already come running in her direction and had kneeled next to the guy when she finally snapped from her temporary shock. It was the short bald man that, for the thousandth time in her life, saved her ass by the skin of her teeth.

"Bulma! How many times do I have to tell you to not pull jokes on him when he's this drunk?" His eyes motioned her to approach him as fast as she could. 

"O-ohhh… s-sooorry!" As she feigned the worst nervous laughter of her life, she also swallowed her booming heart whole. Her head felt fuzzy and fear, anxiety, and thrill ran through her cold bones. "Please tell me I didn't kill him." She whispered, almost choking on a sob.

"No. Of course not. He seems to have just passed out. Look, he's sleeping." He responded, martially. That was one of the many reasons why Lazuli had married that man. He might be short and funny looking, but he was also the most level headed person she knew. Her tensed up shoulders relaxed, and she sighed in relief.

"Let's drag him on that bench and see if he wakes up. Otherwise, I'll call my wife and we'll take him to the dojo. We can't leave this poor bastard in the open."

"Thanks Krillin. I-"

"Oh, don't thank me, yet. I'm doing this just to laugh my ass off when he'll chew you out for what you did." He reproached, furrowing his eyebrows into a deep scowl. 

"What a friend." She sniffed haughtily, bending to help Krillin to slip the arm of the sleeping man around her shoulder. "He's so cute." She whispered-squealed.

Krillin shook his head. "You have no shame."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing this chapter ❤️


	8. First rule of being Krillin's friend: don't listen to Krillin

Lazuli and Krillin had met in a taekwondo dojo, had started going out while attending the same mixed course, and had opened a dojo on their own when they had married. Those who didn't know them tended to stigmatize the couple as a _mismatched pair_. Those who didn't know them thought that _she deserved more_ just because society labeled her "pretty" and him "ugly." However, for Lazuli, Krillin was the ideal man. And for Krillin, Lazuli was the ideal woman. 

Sometimes, when she looked at them, Bulma frizzled with envy. 

She was, in their little group, the one that had always jumped from a disastrous and unstable relationship to another, all of them as short as a trip out of town. Thus, she pretty much always ended up being the third wheel, the candle holder, the friend they always called of pity that occupied the fifth seat of shame in double dates at the restaurant or the movie theater. 

That's why she had always, always, _always_ been _ravenous_ when it came to searching for a potential _man._ That had stopped being for her own good a long time ago. But had started to become a necessity… to not feel utterly _alone._

However, that had changed the moment she had discovered _fandoms._ _Forums. Chats._ Places full of people like her, people that, for a reason or another, had found a secret place away from real life to pour their… need for attention. Thus, there were writers, artists, readers, all of them poured their feelings into something they adored, admiring, and worshiping the idea of _love_ that can come just from fantasy. A perfect, neverending strong bond that many people can only dream about. 

And that's how she fell for Dragon Square. And for King Herb. A surrogate… maybe. But one that worked. 

So she started to seldomly see her friends and to stay cooped up in her house more often. Inventing excuses not to go out had become an art because spending time with her 2D husband had become more comfortable than seeking real, trash men. 

Well, until today. 

She knew, knew _perfectly,_ that whoever was the man she had knocked out with a snowball, was nothing but the projection of a fanatical crush. It wasn't the first time that it had happened, that she looked for _that character_ in every man she met.

She knew all of that. How stupid it was, how immature, maybe, how fickle. Still better than _her being the third wheel_ , anyway. Fortunately, her friends had never discouraged her Pindaric flights. On the contrary, for a reason or another, they were sort of supportive and more times than once had come to her rescue; when she plunged headfirst into situations like the current one. 

And the circumstance she had - involuntarily - created screamed _carpe diem_ from every angle. It had been a couple of hours since the incident, and the man in their possession was everything but a light sleeper. Or, if he was, he must be someone that worked overnight or was used to staying up a lot. He hadn't woken up. They had placed him onto the couch in Krillin's study, and the short man had tossed a blanket on him. 

"We have a lesson _downstairs with kids._ " Krillin had pinned her under a warning stare, "If the weather hadn't decided to play pranks on me..." he sighed, glancing at the raging snowstorm outside of the window, "I would have driven you home immediately. Bulma, for the love of every force that moves the universe, _do not touch that man._ I know you're infatuated with his… uhm… face, but you don't know him and I don't have to tell you the consequences that would follow if you added more insult to the injury." 

Her brows had quirked up in annoyance. He was speaking to her like a sort of molester as if she would sexually assault the oblivious sleeping man at any moment. 

Instead of refuting his accusations, though, she raised both of her hands like a disarmed thief. "I swear, your honor, that I won't follow my lurid, basic instincts and copulate with this man **until** he comes back to his senses." 

Krillin shook his head, presumably so used to her sarcastic remarks that he just learned how to naturally dodge them. "One hour." He repeated "stay out of trouble for just this meager amount of time, I beg of you." And hadn't added anything else. Leaving her in the room with a defenseless, handsome, sexy, incredibly hot, hyper-ultra… yeah with the man. 

That also happened to be the shorter clone of Herb. 

Basically, _medieval torture_. 

Oh well, Krillin had _ordered_ her not to _touch_ him. But she could observe him as much as she wanted. Right? And that activity required a strategic and comfortable position to be done. So, she stripped out of her hoodie, bundled it and carefully placed it on a chair, dragged the seat as close as possible to the man's face, and knelt on the furry flooring of the study, and rested her cheek on her crossed arms. Like that, it was like they were sleeping together. And she could look at his close up as much as she wanted. She sighed, like a besotted schoolgirl, at his strong and angular cheekbones. At the slight trembling of his lids and lashes. At that scowl that didn't disappear, not even in his sleep. At his slightly aquiline nose, the curve of the thin cupid bow that was just a bit more fuller than his bottom lip and formed a tiny v. 

"You really look like him," she whisper-giggled. "Can I take a picture of you?" She asked, to nobody. "Wouldn't it be funny, if my phone casually dropped from my hoodie and _casually_ activated the camera?"

"Just one. To remember you by when I'll be in jail after you sue me." 

But that one picture turned to two, then three with her posing like a stalker next to him. "I know I'm breaking at least 40 laws. But I can't help it, you're just that _cute_. So cute. So goddamn cute!" Yes, she felt a little dirty. No, she wouldn't remove those pics from her phone not even if he dragged her into a court to do it.

"But you could also open your eyes and fall for me. I wouldn't mind that. Hey, sleeping beauty... what's your name?" She lulled, returning to her spot on the chair. For a long time, she enjoyed the howl of the storm outside, the soft warmth of the study, and the calm breathing of the man. 

Until he stirred. And she jumped off the seat and on her ass; her heart booming loud in her ears. Herb-clone mumbled something in his sleep, his bushy black brows, previously knitted deep on his forehead relaxed, and he let out one of the sexiest moans she had ever heard in her life. His parched mouth parted, and a flick of tongue wetted it. 

She closed her eyes, her teeth clipping and torturing her bottom lip. It wasn’t her that was pushing that chair closer, but that mischievous poltergeist called temptation. No, she wasn’t going to break her promise, but just a tinsy bit closer, just to feel the ghost of his breath on her mouth.

It would be like an indirect kiss, and nobody could say a thing because no touching was involved.

He said something in his sleep, and his voice was rough and low, somehow… angry at someone or something.

“You’re making it very, very hard, to not just…”

It was a feathery peck, a dab on his lips, something that nobody would ever feel. Her mouth opened slightly, caressing that dry consistency for just a second.

For a second, then... he dipped his head forward and his mouth felt so hot on hers that her mind went totally blank.

Until his eyes opened wide.

And she choked on her fucking heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for the betaing ❤️
> 
> Art by the beautiful and super skilled [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree)


	9. Anal Dick and Bitchy Cunt

He crawled so fast, with his back against the headrest of the sofa, that the numbness in his legs disappeared the second it manifested. 

At first, for the first couple of seconds, the swimming sensation in his head had suggested it to be weird, oneiric parturition. But when the woman in front of him had sprung off as if her leg had been caught in a steel trap, then it had become sharply clear that this was _reality._

And maybe it was because he was still drunk on sleep, and she was spooked shitless, that they had been staring at each other like imbeciles for one second longer than required. 

And the fact that he had instinctively been holding that blanket against his crotch to hide his inexistent nakedness made him look even more like an imbecile! 

He tossed it on the floor and ground his teeth. "What the hell were _you_ doing?" He hissed, darting his gaze around but not really leaving the offender. Where, in the blistering goddamned world, had he ended up? And how?

The woman in front of him swallowed, then gave him the sketchiest smile ever. "CPR." 

He quirked a brow, and his mouth twitched into an irritated grimace. "CPR." The conviction in his voice, as he parroted her, equalled that of someone in front of a door-to-door vendor. 

"You fainted in the middle of a square with your face deep in the snow." She added, crossing her arms.

At that revelation, he felt the crook of his neck self-combust, and with it every other patch of skin in his face. "P-preposterous!" He shot up from where he was sitting, walking to and fro in the room as if some insect had just bitten his ass. 

"It's the truth." She insisted, her timbre composed as should have been _his_. "If you don't believe me, ask Krillin." 

He swirled back in her direction, shame and discomfort mounting in his body too fast for him to school himself back to indifference. "Who the fuck is Krillin?" He barked.

"I am Krillin." 

A man… kid… dwarf… now stood under the doorframe of the entrance, passing his gaze between him and the woman. "Let me apologize on behalf of my friend." He started, walking up to them, clad in a uniform that looked like a _dobok._

His gaze sharpened on the detail for just a second, but he didn't have time to ask. The woman next to him had started to vigorously shake her head, which prompted him to veer the path of his query in that direction. "And why should I accept _your_ apology?" He ventured, the barest hint of sarcasm and haughtiness in the innocent question.

"Because I was accompanying her when she threw the snowball at-"

"Krillin shut your trap, will you?!" Suddenly she was close again, her arm sneaking effortlessly around his, making all of his body tense up. "I... I'm sure _our_ guest is confused enough as it is." She said. "Don't you think we can put off trivial details for _later_ and...uh...dunno...invite him to dinner _?_ " She looked at him, flapping her eyelashes and winking like a bitch.

He shook her off, irked and fed up with the herd of creeps. "You, bald runt. If you're really sorry, just call me a taxi. I don't intend to stay here a second more." He turned on his heels and grabbed his coat; he identified on the armrest of a recliner.

"Yes, of course, I understand your haste, but outside-"

"How fucking dare you be such an ungrateful bitch to my friend?!" The woman approached him again, and this time, her flirtatious persona had morphed into the Major of an infantry battalion. "You should be _grateful_ that he took you off the street and gave you shelter instead of leaving you at the mercy of icicle bombs! So if he's _gently inviting you to dinner-_ "

"Truth to be told, I never-"

"Shut the fuck up, Krillin!" 

He was so thrown aback by her sudden change that his lips felt glued together and all he could do was stare at her, wondering if she was possessed or merely nuts.

"... you stay and don't call him a _runt_. Am I clear?!" 

He threw a glance at the other short man, that nodded firmly and joined his hands into a silent sign of apology. "Please, stay. Let us apologize for the inconvenience." He added, seemingly exhausted.

"So?" She tapped her foot on the ground with increasing impatience.

He crossed his arms and caved in, like a stupid, pathetic idiot. "Whatever. But make it fast." 

Once the rottweiler woman seemed to regain a semblance of self-control, she stretched out her hand. "I'm Bulma, by the way. Bulma Briefs. And what do we call you, Sleeping beauty?" 

He did not take her hand, but turned to her, his eyes squinting with disgust.

" _Vegeta._ And don't you dare use that diabetic epithet with me _ever_ again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lady_Red and Ruthlesscupcake for their help 💓


	10. Keymashing is the new sexting

The atmosphere was tense and the dinner resembled a political roundtable. 

Krillin was the only one trying hard to dilute the awkwardness. He had slipped into an apron and whipped up an extemporaneous meal with the ease of a pro. He was currently deep-frying some shrimps, whistling, and flipping omelets in an adjacent cooking pan.

Lazuli, who was sitting at the table with them, long legs crossed and wine in one hand, studied the stranger with the vigilance of a lioness protecting her cubs. 

On the other side of the table, there was her, legs squirming to inch her chair closer, but chest aflame with pride. Of course, he'd be an asshole. All pretty boys seemed born from the same, obscure, nasty hole. But could she blame him for refusing her advances? He had woken up to a stranger sucking on his face. Nobody would like that. However, how many could boast about being roused by a _charming queen_ like her? She tore a little piece of bread from the slice she was holding up, popping it in her mouth as if it were popcorn. No matter how much she tried to resist, or keep her eyes low, she was drawn to his face like a stupid moth. 

And she could tell he was uncomfortable by the dual stare he was receiving from both her and Lazuli because his eyes were glued to his smartphone, the only thing he had been interacting with since the start of dinner. 

"So, uh… Vegeta," saying his name out loud, made her scream inside like a stupid fangirl. How many possibilities in this world would there be that a man could have a name similar to an anime character? It sounded and tasted so exotic on her lips, almost like his mouth. "What do you do for a living, besides being so cute?" She interwove her fingers under her chin, resting it on top of them. 

He barely looked up from his phone, his nose twitching in a queasy sniff at her question." _Kidnapped by thirsty women_ seems an addition I should put in my résumé." If he was trying to be sarcastic, she couldn't tell. He had said that with so much contempt that it sounded true. 

The fucking nerve.

"Nobody kidnapped you," she quipped, suddenly growing defensive, "You _fainted_ , and we brought you here. There's a chasm between this and that." 

He pursed his mouth and his eyes thinned into dangerous slits. But instead of a comeback, he returned on his phone, blatantly ignoring her. 

Rude and self-important, the kind of man she'd gladly spit on. If it weren't for that charming face of his, she would have slapped him. "Sorry again for barging in your house," she moved on to Lazuli, which nodded at her.

"No problem. _You're_ always welcome here." The way she stressed that ' _you'_ made it obvious that Vegeta's presence was the only problem here. It was also foregone that she was holding her tongue for the sake of Krillin. Otherwise, knowing her, she would have chewed up Vegeta raw and spat the bones for solely daring to offend her husband. 

The inviting smell of shrimps filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl. At the same time, as if on cue, the phone in her pocket chimed.

She checked on the diners, and since Lazuli had got up to help Krillin, and she was alone with a man that wasn't noticing her even by mistake, she pulled out the device and swooped the new message open.

_Princeofsmut_01: "so you were all big words and no substance."_

Oh, good. Just what she needed now! Another son of a bitch. She had forgotten about the _blind date._ And honestly, with how the events had turned out, she didn't care about it _at all,_ at this moment.

She typed in an unfelt _"I have no clue what you're talking about"_ and sent it out. 

Her phone chimed again. So oddly fast.

_Princeofsmut_01: "dumb too."_

Okay, now this dude was truly starting to get on her nerves. 

_"I had better things to do than foster your sick games_." As she sent the message out, Vegeta's phone rang, too. And that drew her attention. He had been sending messages for a while now. Maybe to his girlfriend? _Wife?_ Maybe he was telling her how he was stuck in a dojo with imbeciles, and that he couldn't wait to go home in her bed. Maybe she was a little slip of a thing, clad in nothing but lingerie, waiting for him, spread-legged on their king-sized bed. And honestly, just the thought roasted her face like a baked good. 

Of course, he'd have a girlfriend. She sneaked a glance at his frowny face and sighed. Just her _luck._ She must have looked so...stupid. 

Her phone warned her of a new incoming message. And reading it made her realize how pathetic she was. In that room, once again, she was the third wheel. 

_Princeofsmut_01: "Having dinner with your stupid cartoon husband, I guess."_

It was ironic how that was true. She was sitting at a table with her _fantasies_. In reality, who sat in the flesh there, was just a random man she didn't even know. A crush that wasn't a real crush. All that dreamy atmosphere existed just because she was refusing to take off her rose-tinted glasses. So pathetic.

She didn't know what possessed her when she typed back, " _do you ever feel so lonely that you just want to scream?"_

Vegeta's phone chimed again. 

And… that felt odd. She stole a glance at him, whose expression hadn't changed an iota since the moment he had opened his eyes. Until now. It was minimal, the barest hint of eyebrows dipping further down on his forehead. His mouth twitched with irritation. 

After a long moment, in which he just tapped his index finger on the screen of his device. He started to type a reply. Fast. And… to her horror, her phone rang. 

The heart in her chest started to run laps around her lungs. 

Now, that wasn't possible, right? 

She swallowed. And when Vegeta veered his gaze in her direction, she looked down as if caught red-handed. She laughed at herself. _How many fucking chances could there be that out of all the men, that one piece of crap, is sitting at my same table, sending messages to me and incidentally being the sexiest man on Earth? Scant. None!_

Even if… now that she thought about it… Vegeta was _in that square, at that time, and looked like the character Princeofsmut_01 wrote about_ …

 _Nah_. _Now that would be sheer, fucking rotten juju._ _I can't be_ _that jinxed. Right_?

The reply read, " _Are you going to go confess your sad life to me just because I'm a perfect stranger? Cut that crap. I have no interest in psychoanalyzing haters_." She scoffed. _Kettle calling the pot black much? You write fucking smut for perfect strangers! If that's not confessing your sad life to them, what else is it?_ She didn't even feel angry or sad. That little seed of suspicion that had started to bloom in her mind overlapped with her sudden moment of weakness. Instead of hating it… that gave her hope.

One side of her wanted to just put away her phone and cast those sick thoughts aside. 

Another… 

She bit her lip. 

And sent out a random string of gibberish.

Vegeta's phone chimed.

She typed in more and sent it once, twice, thrice.

It chimed all three times.

When she looked up from her phone, he was staring back at her. 

Without even looking at his screen, Vegeta typed another message.

The notification sound of her phone cut in the silence for the last time.

At the same time, Krillin and Lazuli approached the table, serving mouthwatering dishes full of steamy shrimps.

But her gaze didn't move from Vegeta's and the unabashed intensity of it. 

She wetted her parched lips and lowered her gaze on the message.

It said just one thing.

 _Princeofsmut_01: "Dghgbhfhhvcffcnh._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing this chapter ❤️
> 
> Also, not less important, but Erotica got a nomination in the Humor category for the TPTH award contest! Thank you to those who nominated it! Soon I'll put on the banner ❤️❤️❤️


	11. I like you but I can't stand you, so fuck off... but don't hate me, ok?

A side of her screamed, internally, in a language she didn't even know. 

The other half of her brain, a winged putto plucked the chords of an imaginary harp, playing _her_ wedding march. 

Whilst her brain was surmounted by abomination and chaos, her face stilled into a plastic smile. With a tiny curl on her face, she pointed at her hosts, accepting their culinary offer with trembling hands. 

Vegeta hadn't stopped looking at her for a _single_ second, and while the sudden turn of events pleased her narcissistic side, it completely knocked out her pride. How… could she have been so _blind? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no._

She had _kissed_ him _, a faux pas_ that denied every message she had sent to him!

She forked a shrimp as if she were holding a halberd, it felt so heavy in her grip that she almost lost it. The crustacean slipped on the plate like a bar of soap. 

Grabbing a colter, she stabbed the fried shellfish, _sawing_ it in half. Turned, at the right angle, the blade showed the reflection of the man in front of her. He had stopped staring and was now eating as if nothing had happened. Could it be that she had jumped to conclusions too fast? That the brief display of moments ago was nothing but a big, fat misunderstanding? 

If he was truly PrinceofSmut_01, why would he hide his identity? Or not retort with some poor comeback? 

So, had she just jumped the gun too fast? Or worse… was he ignoring her because he thought she was ugly? Stupid? Crazy? 

She straightened her back. If he was going to play that game, good. She was going to go along with it. She ate one of the shrimps, chewing delicately on it and humming with appreciation… even though her stomach was so knotted that swallowing one-piece felt like ingesting a juggernaut. 

On the tip of her tongue was a balanced scream. Her legs twitched to push the seat backwards and jump on the table, just to grab him by the collar and make him confess his sins. But… what if she made a total fool of herself _again?_

"So, do you guys like it?" Krillin tried, a sunshiny, almost fake smile splitting his face in half. The uncomfortable atmosphere had probably extended to the owners of the house too, and Bulma's shoulders jumped at his question, like those of a guilty kid. 

"Yes! Extraordinary." She licked her lips, rubbing her belly to reinforce her words.

"Edible." 

Vegeta's timbre boomed in her ears like a shot off of a revolver. She turned fast towards him, ready to finally quip back, but words died in her mouth before she could open it.

He had changed posture, and now, chin-on-palm was eyeing her like she was an act in some old carnival's sideshow. He held the tail of the shrimp between two fingers. "Rather _tasteless_ without _seasoning_. Once you remove the carapace, they're just _naked_ , _common_ fish." 

She could hear Krillin whisper to his wife, "is he a food critic… or just shitting on my food?" 

But it all remained in the background.

Her eyes were fixated on the man on the other side of the table, wary. She had caught a nasty hint of sarcasm in his voice, and that had been the cue she was waiting for. Knowing his penchant for hiding stuff in between lines, she knew what he was doing. 

"You, _runt._ Bring me some _mayonnaise."_

"Don't you try to, Krillin!" 

He was trying to call her out.

They both turned to the short man at once, and the man, feeling probably ganged up, just blinked at them. 

"I'll give it to him." 

Surprisingly, Lazuli intervened, making Bulma's eyes go wide with shock."What? He just offended Krillin!" She barked, "and you're going to serve him…"

"I'm just bored. This looks quite entertaining." 

_Good. Out of all the times, now_ _she decides to_ _betray me, for fun_! 

Without adding anything else, the blonde brought their guest what he required and just like that, went back to her spot, crossing her legs and watching as if in front of her was about to start a tv show.

"Just so you know, I'll deny you favors for the next decade." She muttered, gaining just a mouthed "I'll live with that" from the nordic traitor.

Vegeta continued his brazen shit show, pinning her under his stare again. And if, at first, she tried to deny him attention, the little worm of paranoia zigzagging in her skull forced her to point her gaze to him and that handsome, _goddamned_ face, _again_. 

"I'm sure I'm not the only one in the room that prefers this," after squeezing a spoonful of mayonnaise on his plate, he proceeded to dip the head of the shrimp in it… slowly. "This way."

Oh god.

Oh god.

He wasn't.

He certainly wasn't…

"However, many people tend to _ostracize_ this practice, preferring to savour its raw, undaunted flavor." His mouth curled infinitesimally upward, angled so that she could be the only one seeing that side. He brought the shrimp close to his mouth, opening it just enough to lick a precarious drop of mayonnaise. "What? Do you want to show me how to do it, perhaps?" He extended his arm unceremoniously towards her. "Or you'd rather take it directly _from my mouth?"_

Fucking bastard!

Bulma couldn't hold it in anymore and shot up from her seat, _searing._

"You come with me. _Now_."

She didn't even think or dare to watch him when she grabbed his wrist - shrimp annexed - and pulled him with her in the adjacent room.

\---

She let go of his arm just when he swatted her hand away, daring to dust off the part she had held as if it was infectious.

Teeth gritted, she stared at that detail for a long time. Eyes progressively squinting into sharp, annoyed slits.

"What were you trying to pull off? Honestly?!" 

Vegeta leveled her a scornful stare, "did it bother you?" He walked past her, his timbre grave. "Ironically, I merely did what you do every day in my comment box."

She felt her shoulders stiffen with embarrassment. He knew. He knew she was _Galickkamehameha_. One thing was talking about _that_ behind a smartphone, another, admitting out loud, in the flesh. 

At his inquisitive stare, all the fire in her shrank to candlelight. She lowered her gaze, frowning. "That's different. Nobody knows who you truly are in the fandom."

"Your gray matter is far more damaged than I expected it to be." He stopped in front of the large window of the break room/salon, where they shared...well… not exactly _shared_ , the kiss. 

"I don't want to hear that from someone like you." She bristled, feeling her resolve and voice waver. 

"From _me,_ you say," he turned on his shoulder, the spectral glint of the cool, nighttime sky bouncing against the lampposts cut his frame into something so beautiful that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. "You decide that what I write is immoral, but deem righteous, forcing a kiss on me. Which of us is _sick?"_

"That was a mistake! It's just because you look like him!" When she realized her mistake, it was too late to retract it. 

"I see." His nostrils flared with a scornful leer. "Of course." Something in his voice shifted, and the natural warm depth disappeared completely, leaving space to the detached flatness of a _nuclear winter._ "So, since my resemblance with your worshiped Herb is uncanny, I imagine you'd do anything in order to be with _me_."

He moved closer, and as the soles of his boots clicked on the floor, her heart thumped accordingly. She moved a step back. "No. O...of course not!"

"Your words don't match your trembling body." He raised a hand, grazing the curve of her cheek with his knuckles. Close. So close, she could see the vitriolic narrowing of the pupils in his black irises. "Is it expectation or fear? You shouldn't fear me. After all... _it's better to marry a 2D murderer than fawn over a thousand assholes like me, right_? So even if I were a real murderer," he was too close. She felt her teeth grit and gnash at his mockery. 

"You'd still want to be with me because I look like him." His voice tickled against her skin, but the formication she felt in her arm was much, much stronger than the goosebumps his vicinity elicited. 

"Step back. Or I'm going to slap you." She said, hating the low conviction in her voice. 

"You warn me?" He chuckled darkly, against her ear, "you didn't have problems throwing a snowball at me but now waver when you have to do it this cl-"

The sound of her palm against his neck resembled more the tentative swatting of a fly, that instead of pushing him away, brought him even closer, with his lips now pressing against the crook of her neck.

He touched his reddening nape but didn't move from where he was. On the contrary... he started laughing. 

She put both her hands on his chest and pushed him away. "You'd like that, right? That I was one of those bitches you describe in your sick stories. Willing to squeeze your dick in their hyper-bloated boobs even in the middle of a square? Well. I'm sorry for you, but I'm not. As I said…" she swallowed, her legs trembling because _she realized_ how close… how close she truly was to those descriptions. And it made her nauseous. 

"No. You know? Maybe you're right. Maybe, I would have given in if you weren't a misogynist fuck! But luckily, you reminded me why I loathe you so much!"

"I'm glad you opened your eyes." The crooked, smarmy smirk he gave her made her want to kick him in his balls so hard. "Because I'm _nothing_ like _him"_ again… his expression changed, hardening, "and thank God for that." 

He turned, retrieved his coat, and marched toward the door. 

"There's a blizzard outside." She reminded him, with a hiss, her mouth pursed.

"Better freeze my ass off outside than be in this room with a fanatic slut." 

His words hit. Hard. So hard that somewhere in her chest, a piece of something cracked and bled. But she tried her best not to show it. Her voice grew sarcastic, hasty, spiteful. "Seeing how you make _sluts_ the protagonists of your every _masterpiece_ , all you're telling me is that you're fleeing because you just popped a boner!"

The line of his shoulders jumped with irritation. He didn't turn again, but before closing the door after him, he added something that left her petrified.

"In the upcoming chapter of the manga, Herb _dies._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing this chapter ❤️


	12. Beneath the ink

Having his ass frozen solid did nothing to cool off the annoying, formicating sensation in his stomach. 

How could he have been such _an idiot?_ Leaking the _ending of a chapter_ to a perfect stranger who could spread it like fucking _catnip_. Major character death, to boot. 

Shaking off the remnants of snow off of his shoulders, he went to insert the key in the lock, just to find the door already ajar and sternum-shattering Metal beats coming from the same sliver. Which could only mean that the last thing he needed today was back. 

He entered the apartment and beelined, stiff like an arrow, to the narrow kitchen/break room, when his suppositions morphed into reality.

"I knew it." He growled, feeling the beginning of a migraine creep upon his temples. 

Raditz looked up from his ministrations, sprawled on the living sofa like a dying whale. 

"Yo, honey, since you were awol for the whole day, I took the liberty to print a compilation of the top ten hate comments we received today." 

Over against the first fool, and following the burning stench of grease he was producing, Vegeta framed Nappa, who nodded at him and continued to flip pans at random. 

He rolled his eyes and just ignored them, aiming for his room. 

"Mr. Mausoleum ain't going to acknowledge us, momma, whatcha gonna do with this problematic kid?" 

"Why am I always the mother? You're the one wearing a fucking apron with boobs. And Nappa, where the fuck did you dig that shit from?"

"Airport. I bought this just to show Vegeta, but he didn't even look at me."

Of course, there was no way out of this when the pinnacles of numbskullery dragged him in. His shoulders drooped, "keep it short" he muttered, shrugging out of his drenched coat. 

"Well, the con didn't go bad. Because the new chapter wasn't out yet." Raditz interjected, breathing on the tip of a paper plane before throwing it at him. "But _after_ that, I had fun scrolling through the fan comments on the official manga account, and I'd say we can expect a couple of hand-grenades coming through our windows at any moment now." 

Vegeta caught the plane and unrolled it. He barely skimmed on the contents of the printed page before crumpling it and tossing it behind his back.

"Good," Raditz observed the discarded piece of paper and returned to set his head on the armrest of the sofa "since you're _super concerned_ about _that_ , we can change the subject. Where have you been all day? Dipped your krapfen somewhere nice?"

Nappa's bellow cut in just when he was about to send Raditz to Hell. "Dip what?" The bald fuck retorted, "you're talking about a man whose only erect thing you'll ever see is his anti-pussy magnetic field."

"And who's to blame for that?" Raditz snickered, "You were the one who drew his face on Herb. He had to kill him off to have some joy in his private life."

If his coronary hadn't exploded yet, it was because he had been living under their same roof for God knows how long. If on one side, this had honed his passive skills to a point where their words self-annihilated before reaching his ears, on the other, there were days like this one when being reminded of his blunders just fomented his ire. 

They both jumped when he slammed his fists on the surface of the low central table in the room, making the furniture scattered on top of it tremble.

"Cut this crap! Today is not the day to get on my fucking nerves."

"Roger." Raditz raised his hands in defeat. 

"Don't bust my balls for the next twenty-four hours." 

"Oh, come on Vegeta." Nappa stripped off of the doubtful apron he was wearing and tossed it on a chair. Clinking open the mini-fridge they used as an actual compartment for food, he pulled out three beers and slammed it closed with his talon. "Delight us with your adventures in the city before disappearing into your anal station to write sad porn." Too bulky for the cramped den they called a house, he had to crouch to not bang his head on one of the sticking beams in the ceiling. He plopped next to Raditz, not before shoving the other idiot's legs off with a kick.

Setting his jaw, Vegeta snatched the proffered bottle and leaned his hip on a counter. The tap of the lid gave way under his teeth, and its contents fizzled.

"My teeth cry every time you do that." 

Raditz waved his hand in front of his face, guzzling down the beer as if it were water. "You also fart every time he does that. Holy shit! Move that fucking cesspool away, Nappa! Do you feed on corpses?! I'm dying."

"Just die. Ah, 'Geta, we bought you some souvenirs from the con-"

Still pushing Nappa's ass away from his vicinity, Raditz added, "Can you believe he dragged me into a fucking escape room just to flirt with one of the assassins? And… speaking of _assassins_... You'd want to pick up the plane you threw away. There's an interesting comment in there." 

Interesting? Nothing was interesting about a bunch of hormonal teens spitting useless nonsense on his work. In the few years preceding the success of Dragon Square he was part and parcel of fandoms himself, and what he had gathered from that sewer of brats and dimwit grown-ups with no life was that no matter what you wrote or drew, there was always, always, always someone who'd find a complaint to fling at you. Assuming that reading a page of a virtual encyclopedia automatically conferred them doctorates in _allology_. 

That's why he hardly read the comments anymore and let Raditz take care of it. 

He stared down at the crumpled piece of paper and the discolored tiles of the room. The house itself reminded him of how _his whole life_ was nothing but a fading shadow of who he had once been. A game of pretending that piteously translated the glory of the past into inked, static pictures. Pathetic.

He turned away, departing from the other men in the room. 

"Are you sure you want to ignore the first and last positive comment you'll ever get from _Galickkamehameha_?" 

It hadn't been the sarcasm dripping from Raditz's voice that stopped him. Not even the mention of her nickname. Most likely, irritation. A snake bite to his gut that once again wrung that unbearable formication in his stomach. Expectant smirks clawed the faces of the idiots behind him, he didn't need to see it to imagine them. 

For that reason, he ignored his gut and followed his pride instead and locked himself in his room.

\---

At dawn, just when the only sounds perceivable around were the outer bustling of waste collectors and the sliding of wheels on concrete, he stepped out of his confinement. 

Barefoot scuffling muted in front of the table, where the paper plane he had tossed on the floor was now carefully spread out. 

His nose twitched with indignation and partly by shame at being figured out so easily by his dumb crew. Snatching the piece of paper, he moved closer to the window, where the dimming lampposts still shed their shriveled glow.

His gaze found her nickname immediately. It was a reply to another user.

> _I'm salty as much as you are. Even to me, killing a main like this is bullshit. But do you really need to shit on_ **_all the manga_** _, saying that he ruined it? That you'll burn it? You're a stupid cunt. I hate to admit it, but it made so much sense that he died here. The battle was breathtakingly beautiful, the whole scene was. You could really feel the struggle of him losing power and the anger, the will to survive and in the end… the sacrifice. It made me cry. I hate this. But it's the truth. So fuck off and try to draw your own fucking manga if you're unsatisfied with this._

For the briefest moment, Vegeta felt the corner of his mouth twitching to quirk up. But he didn't. 

He shredded the paper, threw the contents in the trash, and pocketed just the strip with her comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing ❤️


	13. Follow your thirst. It knows the way.

Mon, 20 December 3:20 pm

> **Krillin** : Goku and I are going to buy some food for the party, wanna come?

**3 missed calls from Krillin.**

**5 missed calls from Chichi.**

Tue, 21 December 5:20 pm

> **Goku** : Hey Bulma, u ok?
> 
> Goku sent _memerumba.mp4_
> 
> Goku sent a voice message
> 
> Goku sent a voice message
> 
> **Goku** : u there?
> 
> _Goku sent a voice message_

**44 missed calls from Son**.

She stared at the phone, letting the forty-fifth call ring until the screen light faded to black. Then, she flipped the phone and pushed it under the pillow, where her face sank with a sigh.

It had been three days. Three days off of work - the _egregious_ start of winter holidays - that she had spent cocooned in her bed, like sad larvae, surrounded by used kleenex, Dragon Square's DVDs, manga volumes, and a mountain of action figures of Herb. Her rational side had repeatedly reminded her that she was mourning a _fictional character_. But no matter how many _excuses_ she fed to herself, her body continued to reject real life as if it were a disease. 

It wasn't for the character's death per se. More like for the future of the fandom. The day before, she had seen it collapse, a real exodus of artists and writers that had dropped all their projects in protest. The _idiots_.

That had scared her. She didn't want to lose her oasis of happiness. Not for such a stupid thing. 

Characters can be brought back to life in Dragon Square. Certainly, _Maestro won't let one of his most popular characters end like this._

However, the sudden end of the arc with the antagonist sacrificing himself and shadowing the main character had also caused _riots_ among the fans.

Now, they were split into two factions. On one side, there were those _mad_ at Herb's stands, the side of the fandom who worshiped the protagonist. On the other, the proud fangirls and fanboys of the King, that shielded their departed beloved character with teeth and nails. 

And then, there was her. Who didn't even know what the fuck she was crying for. Maybe she was just sensitive because this time of the year always meant _couples celebrating Christmas together_. And she was alone... _As usual._

Somewhere else, she felt that it was for the shock of having to lose _the only fucking man she believed wouldn't betray_ her due to a plot device. So, _ironically,_ this year, she couldn't even chat in a corner with her fandom friends about their favorite King while her _real_ friends smooched under the mistletoe and exchanged _engagement rings as_ Christmas presents. 

And the last, _definitely minor_ , problem was… Vegeta. That didn't make her sad or cry her eyes out but _irked_ her to no end. Remembering how good his lips had felt on hers for the briefest moment, the intoxicating scent of whatever was the poison he used as an aftershave. His perfect, _handsome_ face matched with… the crappiest, ugliest personality ever!

She sprung up on her knees, aqua brows knitting deep on her forehead. She placed a pillow between her legs, pinning it under her weight.

"Oh. Oh, his… _that sa_ d, chauvinistic porn disguised as writing!" She punched the fluffy foe with all her strength, feeling meager satisfaction in doing so. "I _mean… we could have been perfect! Perfect together_! Two kindred souls devoted to the art of words. We could write together, roleplay spicy sex as Panty and Herb. Watch our favorite anime while eating pizza… oh god." She sobbed a long string of curses, doubling against the pillow and hugging it. Her half-naked ass wiggled in the air, then flattened abruptly on the mattress. 

"I'm so cursed..." a huff and a sigh, and her eyes moved to the closet door she had left open. From there, the life-sized poster of Herb frowned at her. "Oh, come on… don't look at me like that. You're still my favorite… even if you're dead." 

Dead.

_"In the upcoming chapter of the manga, Herb dies."_

She had been so devastated and shocked that she had not stopped to consider the most relevant factor in that sentence. _How did he know?_ Did someone prematurely leak information on the internet that she had overlooked? No. Nobody had known until the very moment the chapter was released. She had checked everywhere.

Then… how? Had he said that just out of spite and miraculously nailed it? As if.

Fast, she reached for her phone and logged into her account, starting to compose a message for Princeofsmut01. 

_"How did you_"_

Her finger stopped midway.

How many possibilities would there be for him to reply with something different from ' _I don't know what you're talking about'?_

She had to change her approach. She got up from her bed and paced around the room, stepped out into the kitchen, and boiled some water to make herself a steamy cup of tea. She placed her phone on the breakfast bar table and sat in front of it, dragging a stool under her ass. 

Her fingers tumbled on the wooden surface. 

It wasn't just curiosity. But something much stronger than that. There was another _stupid_ side of her that just wanted to see him again. Useless to say, the way they had met had hardly abandoned her mind in the last few days. 

"How do I lure him out without sounding pathetic as hell?" Her mouth twitched and so did her nose. She had never needed to _actively_ hunt for men before. Usually, it was only necessary to shake her ass and talk them into submission. But this one not only seemed to loathe her approach but also was demonically irked by the fact she liked his face. 

She had figured he must have a lot of women foaming at their mouths and on his tail. And they all belonged to the same race: fangirls… Fangirls like her.

The whistle of the teapot turned on a light bulb in her mind. 

What if she…

She composed a new message and sent it out.

_"I know what you're hiding."_

It sounded cliché and stupid even to her, but it wasn't the content of the message that would tell her if she could call him out or not. _The haste of his responses would._

Pouring herself a cup of tea, she waited like a student on exam day. Heart pounding in her chest and butterflies swarming in her stomach. Jumpy legs, tapping frantically on the metal bar under her nude feet. 

Her phone chimed.

_"Doubtful."_

That was all he said back. _Not even denying_ the fact. _So_ , she mused, _either he's mocking me or doesn't give a fuck if I know or not. But now I want to know!_

Hyperconscious of the sudden hot flash spreading from her chest, she replied, _"why don't you find out? Meet me."_

He was typing.

And that detail pushed her self-combustion to her neck.

_"Where?"_

The reply left her staring at the screen as if she had just been shot in the head. 

He was saying yes? Like… how… why… she didn't even think that far!

She swallowed and typed in. "Horse statue. Tomorrow at five." Adding and removing the question mark at the end of the sentence at least ten times before deciding to send the message without it.

He made her wait _ten interminable_ minutes before delivering the kill shot with just one word.

_"Deal."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing ❤️


	14. The Llama Maneuver

Since Vegeta had explicitly made it known that he was an _alien of a man_ and didn't like to be wooed by A+ women like her, she had made up her mind and was adamant not to try, in any way, to pursue him actively today. 

Thus, she kicked her sexy thigh-high boots in a corner and slipped into a random pair of sneakers. Forsake her pussy-revealing skirts and deep v-necks in favor of anonymous leggings and printed knits and let her wavy hair down, saying to hell with makeup. He hadn't known her at her best and would never; unless he fell for her… in that case, she _might_ even put some real effort. 

Until then, they were going to be just fellow nerds. " _Fellow nerds,"_ she rolled that word on her tongue, savoring the _intimate_ sound it had in her head. Her eyes squinted with glee while her mouth curved up into an immoral, crooked smile. Some of the eyes, of those who sat on the same brickwork she occupied on the main square of the city, scowled at her. She didn't care though, today the sky was bright with a vernal, tepid sun, and the air was crisp with ozone. The snowstorm had finally settled down and the whole city was dipped in pure white. _Just like a shoujo manga date_ , Bulma mused, squealing internally. 

However, unlike many mangas for girls, in which the love interest showed up _earlier_ than the heroine, or waited for hours, no matter what kind of natural disasters or extreme weather, for _her_ to arrive… her date-slash-foe seemed to enjoy making her wait. 

She had imagined him nervous in front of a mirror, trying to tame his impossible hair into something human. Or his clammy hands adjusting a stubborn, crooked necktie. Actually… she had had… _a full hour_ to imagine a whole fucking wardrobe on him. And her giggly fantasies were starting to morph into impatient hunger. She was still trying to hold onto the slim chance that he hadn't stood her up or worse… messed with her. _It could be_ , she thought, hands yanking angrily at her scarf. "He's that much of a chauvinistic asshole… after all."

"Then, I presume my presence here isn't needed anymore."

Shit! A wild dramatic entrance! It's _super effective… Bulma loses 50_ life points! She gritted her teeth and immediately regretted laying her gaze on him. Shit x2 _! Tobacco leather jacket. Black turtleneck. Denim... suede boots! Anddddd glass-fucking-es?! He did this on purpose. He did this on purpose!_ The _ideal man at 12 o'clock. I repeat, ideal man at 12 o'clock. This is not a drill. I repeat. This is not a drill!_ _Proceeding to peel off the gaze and preparing the llama maneuver, the drool stays in the mouth until the end and you use it just to spit in his face._

While in her mind, alarms droned and heat flared to every part of her body, she managed - miraculously - to keep a poker face and unglue her thirsty eyes from the nasty package of wonders in front of her. "Oh, it looks like someone took real effort to clean up nice." Giving him her best snarky smirk, she crossed her legs… forgetting that no provocative skirt was on them. _Fuck_!

He sneered. One of those annoying, nasal noises he did last time too. He was laughing at her?!

"Unlike you, I do have a life besides asking out random men just because they vaguely resemble 2D idiots." He'd been standing there for less than a second and his vitriolic sarcasm was erupting already, spilling salty lapilli and ash. 

"So you must be a gigolo." She eyed him askance, "last time we met, you weren't this dolled up." 

The way he looked at her, said _pathetic_ even though he didn't utter a word. He just pocketed his hands and turned on his heels. 

She could have let him go because calling for him like a needy slut would just be the cherry on the top of her shame. Her pride was stinging so much that her cheeks flared with unspent rage. So she did the only thing that would not allow him to retort. She got up, marched in his direction and simply took his arm. Feigning to not have interpreted his turning away as plain rejection.

He stiffened immediately, and when the first syllable of protest started to leave his mouth, she preceded him.

"Oh, this way? Good. Take me somewhere nice so we can talk business. Yeah?" She smiled up at him, her eyelashes fluttering and flapping like cartoonish wings. 

Then, something weird happened. He just turned away and muttered, "as long as you stop being so creepy" under his breath. He did shake her off, but unlike the last time, his hand slid on hers and _gently_ pushed her away. She let him do that and instead just kept walking by his side, staring curiously at him.

"So you do have a nice side, uh?" Her query came out naturally as if they had known each other for ages. 

"If you call that nice, your life must have been a fucking gutter until now." As he sped up to put some distance between them, she contemplated his statement.

"Well, certainly my sentimental life has never been that rosy." Again, her fast pace brought her to flank him. "That ' _until now_ ' sounded almost like you were going to change things."

The cold, impassive "you wish" he gave her didn't faze her this time. She grabbed the hem of his jacket, and pulled him until he stopped and turned in her direction, visibly annoyed.

"Wish? Sorry but you did _look at me_ for a second?" She spun and dragged a hand on her forms, stilling the palm on her hip. "This is first-class merch; there are guys who'd _beg_ to have it." 

He didn't seem impressed. On the contrary, he gave her his back _again._ "Then go make those beggars happy and leave me alone."

She would have tossed another snowball at him - with a fucking rock inside, this time - if that tiny, whispering voice in her head didn't remind her of her main goal. She needed him _alive_ for now. 

"Since we all agree that you evidently lack at least a million dioptres… where are we going? I'm _freezing._ " 

"You could have stayed home, then." 

Good. The tension was back. His shoulders were squared and her mood had _definitely_ dropped after that rude comment. 

So, for the next ten minutes, they just walked at three arm’s length, just staring at the passing shop windows filled with Christmas decorations and listening to stupid carols echoing from megaphones. 

What was she going to say to him when he'd enquire about the message? She didn't know shit. At the moment, the only thought swirling in her head was how it would be nice if they weren't meeting for mere bullshit and weren't walking leagues away from each other like plagued people.

Once again, she tried to swallow down her _hate_ for this particular holiday and got closer to that goddamn hot copy of the Grinch. 

"Let's stop here." He said that like an automaton, his monochord voice cutting into her self-pitying session like a cold blade. 

She made a face at the chosen location. Of all the places… 

"A comic shop? For real?" The irony in her voice didn't quite match the thrill in her body. Wasn't that like _the perfect date_? If… it was a date, of course.

"No." He shrugged and produced a set of keys from the pocket of his jacket. They jangled against his wrist. "I live in the apartment on top of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's the Halloweenie week, the next chapter of Erotica will be released the next week. But I promise you it will be juiiicyyyy~ 😏 if you know what I mean.
> 
> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for betaing ❤️


	15. When his excuse is not "come up for a coffee" but there's a coffee anyway

_"Wait, wait, wait, wait!"_ As the lower half of her mouth proceeded to ungraciously dislocate in shock, her mental vocabulary instantaneously jotted down the only definition that situation might entail: 

> / _əˈpɑːtm(ə)nt/_
> 
> a block of rooms, that contains _his_ room, that contains _flat surfaces_ that don't have to be necessarily used for orthodox purposes.

He turned over his shoulder, looking down at and _on her_ from the last one of the first row of steps presumably leading to his flat. And no, that gaze didn't belong to a suddenly aroused man. It was more akin to a murderer ready to mutilate his victim and melt her bones into a tub full of nitric acid than someone ready to lunge at her pussy.

_But dem glasses. Oh, God._

"Uhm," she felt uncharacteristically uncomfortable and stalled her steps under the archway of the run-down complex. Her thighs brushed against one another like those of a kid that has to pee. "I didn't shave my legs today."

The quirk of one bushy, black brow barely noticeable on his forehead framed Vegeta's penetrant stare. She expected to see his mouth twist into a disgusted curve, but instead, it didn't change. On the contrary, his only reply made her heart oddly flutter. 

"I have razor blades," he had said. Maybe she was a twisted person, or, like he had said before, just under the spell of that _anime-like_ charm of him, but in her head, those disinterested words had sounded like a _proposal._ A normal person would invite her upstairs for a cup of coffee, but no, Vegeta invited her to shave her legs _in his apartment._

Plus, his weird, awkward response reinforced, even more, the idea that she simply liked him. Even if in his writings he morphed _cocks_ into _weeping vegetables_ and made pussies become scabbards for swords of inhuman length. She felt like she could even overlook that. The only real obstacle to the crowning of their “ _lifeship”_ was his horrendous, _misogynistic side._

The knot descending between her eyebrows testified her next target. A newfangled _raison d'être: Make that man believe in the pussy again._ Possibly, just hers. She hadn't moved a single step forward - still aground in a impromptu mental fanfiction that had her as a protagonist of a poignant mid-war plot, where Vegeta was the clichéd injured soldier, and she was his private nurse - when Vegeta beckoned her with an annoyed throat-clearing. 

Blinking out of her stupor she ran two steps at a time until she found herself stepping into the set of a horror movie. It wasn't the _stench_ of… unwashed laundry that flipped all the hairs on her body, but the rabble of mismatched furniture she could spot from the entrance. 

She stopped there, staring at Vegeta and then at the house and then at Vegeta again. In no way _that man_ could live there. His clothing didn't match that building! 

"Uh…" she stepped inside like walking on eggshells, or like someone who was trying hard to not step on corpses. 

The sad ocher of the walls paled in front of the discordant _hot pink_ sofa casually thrown on top of a versicolored carpet. The kitchenette had just a tiny sink and a gas stove. No oven. No fridge. Just a thing that seemed like a minibar stolen from some motel. 

In front of the dining room/kitchen were three other chambers and a tinier door that probably, she mused, must have been the bathroom. 

"This place is shitty." The comment climbed up her throat like an irrepressible burp. 

"Tell me something I don't know." Vegeta didn't seem affected by her comment. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and, with a dexterous snap of the wrist, made it fall perfectly folded on the armrest of the couch. 

She pursed her lips, inspecting the clutters scattered in the house to catch a sign of female intrusion. Two cups of coffee laid overturned in the sink. On top of the central low table, there was an ashtray with a recumbent, single cigarette still smoking. "Are you married?" She demanded snappily. Even though not finding any evidence, the pair of _everything_ smelled foul like that room.

He was putting a coffee pod in the machine when his compact, sturdy shoulders drooped. She could barely spot the nasty curve of his lips from that angle. "Are you worried?" 

She sighed, walking toward the sofa and plopping on it. She caressed its rough surface. "Nah. No girl right in her mind would willingly come in this dumpster. Let alone live here. Guess you have flatmates, though." She hugged a pillow.

"You're out of yours, then." He commented dryly.

"Nah, I just like you." 

Whatever he was holding in his hands wasn't in his hands anymore a second later. But on the ground. He stood there for a second, then crouched down to wipe off the spilled coffee from the floor.

He took a hell of a time just to respond with a stuttered " _bullshit._ " Did she finally hit a nerve? 

"Why Vegeta, you seem suddenly uncomfortable." She purred, hiding a delighted smirk behind the fluff of the pillow. 

He poured what remained of coffee for himself and leaned his ass against the sink, now fully turned toward her. "Put your mouth to better use." He gnashed his teeth, hissing like a venomous, cornered snake. But his words, said with that commanding tone and that schooled posture, made her mind bounce where it should have not. 

"Usually, when that line appears in one of your works, the hero wants a blowjob. Is that what you are asking?" 

Oh, she was enjoying this, seeing how the coffee he didn't offer her suddenly took a turn for the wrong airway and made him cough until his face turned crimson. 

He wiped the tear of coffee from his mouth with the back of his hand, and seemed on the verge of glowering at her, but instead, his mouth flattened into a salacious curve. "Is that what you’re proposing?" 

That little slip of him had made her forget that the man in front of her was a first-class asshole and wouldn't easily bend to her provocations. Well, a side of her would definitely not mind seeing him slowly unbuckle that belt and maybe peek at a sexy happy trail. But she had seen his way to play that game, and his game was made of insults and strategically aimed barbs. "Honestly, you refused me too many times to make me believe you'd want my mouth on your cock."

She couldn't quite decipher the turbid emotion in the gaze that he gave her in that moment. Whatever it was, though, disappeared immediately. "Your mouth is dirty enough as it is, even without a cock in it." He rebuffed, sounding more salty than accusatory. "Enough chit-chat, spill whatever you wanted to say." _And leave_. He hadn't said that aloud but she didn't need to hear it to fill in the gaps. 

But she didn't want to leave, nor did she know what she wanted to say. So she'd simply buy randomic time. 

"Let's read your ugly fanfictions first." She stood, throwing the pillow at him. "You didn't provide new material for my daily roasting service."

"There is nothing to read." He deposited the empty cup in the sink and let the water run. 

"Let's write one, then." She closed their distance a little more and attempted a risky wrap of her arms around his waist "unless you want me to shave my legs instead." She whispered, her mouth close to his ear. 

Having become quite predictable when it came to reacting to unwanted physical contact, he freed himself from her fleshy vise smoothly as if it was second nature to him.

"You're nuts." He commented but proceeded to show her to his room anyway.

 _The way he totally puts up with my shit… God, I'm so in love with this man!_ She couldn't help but squeal, falling in tow behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A truck of thank yous to Rogue_1102 for betaing this chapter ❤️ Please, check out her beautiful works [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102)
> 
>   
> Also, I wanted to add that there is a little reference to Ni21's One Piece fanfic in this chapter, one that I'm super in love with. 
> 
> Please, check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21846358/chapters/52136344) whether you're a fan of OP or not. I guarantee you'll fall in love with her writing style. 
> 
> Plus she also wrote Vegebul fics! You definitely want to check those out!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	16. Of real dildos and fake cocks

_'Why?_ ' Was the first question running in pole position in his mind, followed up by ' _what the fuck I'm doing in Nappa's room with a serial groper?'_ And the more relevant of all three, that seemed to take great delight into coming last, 'am I seriously going to write _porn_?'

The fact he could easily respond to all of them with ' _you're an imbecile_ ' made him even more one. Or a masochist, or perhaps her folly was contagious, and it was too late to take a shot. Or he was just trying to deny what he'd known for a while, even before their actual encounter. It irked him. It irked him to the point of making him swallow, to the point of making him question his _fucking life choices._

Two deliriant strangers sat in front of a screen whose desktop had a spread eagled anime bitch that was staring straight into _his_ soul — and the empty document he clicked open, was like the reflection of his current state of mind.

"I'm still wondering why you didn't take me to your room." 

His sightline veered to the woman next to him, askance. "You should rather be grateful you're still in _this house_." 

She was half-bent on the desk, chin lax on the palm of one hand. Her finger started to hit lazily on one of the keys. "Mhhh, regretting your choice?" The snickering curling up of her lips, made his down curve. 

_Yes._

"No." Whatever it was that made his mouth shit the contrary of what he thought, was like gasoline. That was what this woman provided and what prevented him from just kicking her ass out in the snow. Whatever that nasty chemical reaction was, it allowed him to be who he was before. Made him taste a bite-size of the side of him he thought he had lost. 

And he wanted that. Just that. 

"Then write your unrealistic porn. What are you waiting for?" 

She underestimated him, and that made him eager to prove her wrong. 

"When you read this kind of shit, you don't seek _realism._ Nobody does." He placed his finger on the cancel key, wiping the page clean. 

"Oh, yeah right. I drool after a 2D character, so it translates into me wanting to be _drilled_ to infinity and beyond by a space jackhammer disguised as a cock." She pressed the string of J's again, fighting him. 

He went back to looking at the screen, feeling a hint of mockery flip the corner of his lip upwards. "More or less. You want it dirty but not ugly. You pretend perfect cuts that stray away from _actual_ sex. Which is made of piteous grimaces and awkward fails, of cocks slipping out and farting cunts."

Her eyes slowly, imperceptibly widened. But then she was back again, her flirtatious and annoying persona completely discarded. "What kind of sex did you have until now?" She pursed her lips until they became white around the edges and pressed her finger on the J's with more emphasis. "No, you're right… it can be like that. It's ugly, but it's what makes the writing _relatable_. I want to relate to the heroine, I want to feel what she feels. I want to feel the heat, to feel _wet_ by reading just a description of a gaze. Your smut is as good as a porn I watch online when I want to masturbate. That's hardly _writing_ , that's… something I skim through and that I won't even remember."

He stopped pressing the 'canc' key and laughed, a laugh that came straight from his sternum and escalated his throat like a bellow.

"My readers remember what I write. And you know what I write?" He wedged the tip of his boot in between her legs, on her seat, pushing himself backwards. The swiveling chair he was sitting on rolled-creaked toward the bed. Bending behind the desk, he grabbed a bunch of post-it notes and threw them at her. 

They floated in the air. The woman caught one.

"Tan Wurstel. Cave driller. Boomstick? Cervix crusader?! Sturdy Log?!? Please tell me you're planning on robbing a sex shop and that _these are not synonyms for cock_."

She paled before he could actually give a reply. "They… are… woah. Well...I must at least acknowledge the dedication…"

"Of my housemates." 

"Wait. _You_ are _Princeofsmut01_ , right?" Her confused expression slowly morphed into one of realization when he shrugged. 

"Sometimes." 

"I can't fucking believe you have all of those followers… you… your writing is as serious as a prank call! I'm so…" she didn't end the sentence. She grounded her feet and rolled the chair towards him, grabbing the armrest and pulling it. "Disgusted doesn't even begin to describe it."

In response, he stretched his leg like before, pinning it on the space between her legs to stop the pulling. "Why do you read it?" 

His question seemed to hit a nerve. She stopped pulling and her mouth gaped, then closed and gaped again like a fish. 

"I said it once already. I don't give a shit. Fucking close your tabs and brighten your day." 

"I read it because of you… or whoever the asshole is that shoulders you, _can_ write. I teach it. It's the content that sucks!"

"Oh, and so you came all the way to my inbox to save me from the horrors of trash-writing and teach me the way? Spare me from that bullshit." He kicked her chair and her hands slipped away from the armrests. 

"Meh. It's not even that difficult." Instead of insisting on the previous push and pull, this time she just dragged her seat closer. "The Panty you write is a woman with no choice. Give her _the choice_ to suck a dick with _dignity_. You asshole. The choice to grab Herb's _cock_ and pucker her lips, just so slightly, lick them, a little trail of saliva wets them. What is she thinking? What is she feeling?"

"She's probably thinking why he didn't shove it down her throat yet." He simplified for her.

"Try to fucking do that and I'll chop it off." 

"I wasn't talking about _mine._ "

She cleared her throat, "I knew that. You're so egocentric."

"Says the one that wanted to blow me fifteen minutes ago." 

"Fifteen minutes ago you were the charming and sexy man of my dreams. Now you're just a chauvinistic scribbler." 

It happened again, like before, that she started spitting that shit that made his skin prickle with venom. "I'm not your 2D stupid dead husband."

"Tell me something I don't know?" She quirked a brow, "I stopped comparing you to _my dead 2D husband_ for a while now. He might be a murderer but he's _a king_ , he's poised and cool, and chivalrous-"

"And fictitious."

"Yes. And fictitious. Like your stupid smut. Told you I prefer real stuff." 

He swallowed. And he felt his nape touch the back of the seat as if his whole body was trying to step back into the sliver of shadow in the back of the room. His skin was on fire. And he was cornered like a fucking rat.

And feeling cornered was what he hated the most. "You base your knowledge on a fantasy. And we're back to the point of this whole conversation."

She bit her lip, and silence enveloped the room too fast. Words died like the hateful character of his manga. And he could hear her breathing growing fast in her lungs, itching like his own. 

His hard, set jaw burned against his teeth. 

And their gaze game became too nauseatingly long to sustain. At some point, she swatted away his leg from where it was firmly anchored. 

And he felt his nerves jump on his abdomen, and his whole body detached itself from the goddamned chair faster than it took for his brain to catch up with his actions and grabbed her hips. He hadn't even registered when she had left her seat, in the background, just the thump of it careening on the floor had followed the need to move his hands on the hems of her shirt and pull it over her head. Grab the jumble of cloth and blindly toss it. And she was suddenly straddling him, and her fingers were buried in his shirt, scraping at the skin of his back while stripping him of the top. 

His legs opened and his crotch rocked against hers. Her hands hot, every fucking where, on his chest and shoulders and her mouth searching blindly for his and opening and biting. And his brain was no fucking where to be found, when she lapped at his chin, and the realization that he was starved for her hit him like a punch in the gut. Frenzied hands digging down in her pants and the wetness on his fingers, the hair she didn't shave, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The sound of her voice in his ear, the breathing, the nibbling and his name whispered like a prayer. 

"Get… get them off" his throat was parched, and his only available hand stupidly clammy on her belt. Why didn't that shit come off?

But to hell with it. She pushed them down forcefully, and tilted her chest forward, and his tongue slipped out to twirl around her nipple and catch it in his mouth. She moaned. Again. And he was so hard that if she didn't grab his cock now…

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

He barely moved his face where it was indecently buried, just to catch a glimpse of the frozen inferno that was standing on the door with his phone in his hand.

"Vegeta in my room is no news. But Vegeta _fucking_ in my room…" 

" _Oh my God_." The voice of the woman on top of him turned thinner and thinner. "Oh my God… _Maestro_?! Is that…is he...?"

And his fucking life was so over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [ Ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake), as usual, for betaing this chapter ❤️
> 
> And thank you to those who keep following my works and leaving words of encouragement. You don't know how much I appreciate that. 
> 
> You can find future updates and whatnot at [@lachanophobicx](https://twitter.com/lachanophobicx) on Twitter!
> 
> Many of you already know, but for those who still don't, Erotica won the [second place](https://imgur.com/a/1CsrP9A%C2%A3) for Audience Choice in the Humor Category of the TPTH awards!


	17. Put the dick in the bag and run with it

It was like experiencing a _double penetration,_ with the only difference being that _nobody_ was effectively penetrating her. 

She was still half straddling Vegeta— even if, right now, it felt more like riding a block of concrete— and his fingers had slipped out from her pants instantaneously as soon as the door had clicked open. 

Mind-boggling was nowhere near the definition her only two active brain cells were trying to scavenge out of her short-circuited brain. One side of her was _furious_ to have been interrupted, while the other was _thrilled_ because the man standing on the door was the very definition of _God_ for her nerdy side. 

" _Get off._ " Vegeta groused, pushing her away brusquely. She would have tripped on her half down pants if she hadn't readily grabbed the corner of the desk sticking out next to her. She sloppily yanked her panties up, feeling a sudden rush of coldness between her legs. 

Before she could complain or start fangirling at the strapping Polyphemus— Vegeta took the phone out of her God’s hand and without batting an eye, crashed it on the floor. He had been so fast and fluid in the movement that she had barely seen him. 

Apparently, she hadn't been the only one.

"Fuck, Geta!" _Maestro_ grimaced at the destroyed device, "You were the one in **my** room!"

"Lock it next time." Was all he said. Literally, **all he said** before stepping out of the room and leaving her hanging there with her boobs flapping in the wind! _Fucking son of a…_

"Uh…" the bald man— that had been downright ogling at her for the last-minute— finally cleared his throat and looked away. 

She stretched out her hand and barely bothered to half cover her tits with the other, forgetting demureness in total favor of excitement. "I'm a big fan of yours. Your manga is my all-time favorite! I can't believe you're here… you… you live with Vegeta?! It's… okay to leave your phone like that?"

He grabbed her hand in his giant one and shook it vigorously. "Oh no, believe me. _I'm_ the only _fan_ here. Your biggest one from today onwards. And don't worry about the phone, I'm so used to this that I just buy cheap ones." He winked.

She didn't get him, but it didn't matter. She was shaking hands with her _idol_ and it was a miracle she hadn't fainted yet. 

"Anyway, I'm Nappa. And yeah, I'm Vegeta's housemate." The man bellowed, earthly, "and you are…"

"I'm Bulma." She brought a hand to her cheek, abandoning her boobs. "From today, Vegeta's _girlfriend_." 

In the next room, Vegeta choked on a liquid again. 

"Fuck! Are you _for real_ , chick? This is a historical event and needs celebration! Nice tits, by the way." 

Okay… _now,_ it was really starting to get _awkward_. Her lips quirked up in a crooked, embarrassed smile. "Apropos of my tits-- could you…" 

She wriggled her index and middle fingers like a walking person. 

_Maestro's_ eyebrows shot upon his forehead. "Oh… yeah, f'course" he walked backward a few steps and closed the door behind him. 

Bulma stood at the center of the room. Her heart rabbited...no _'leopared'_ in her chest. _We… almost…_

The sensation of his fingers digging deep in her pussy made her stomach swarm with want. But _oh my God._ She had almost fucked him. And it was like bedding Herb. No… not quite, but still… she had to fucking tell her online friends about it!

But first…

She framed her bra and shirt pooled on the floor.

Now, she had the option to just pick up her clothes and be kicked out of the house - because Vegeta was _unwilling_ to let her permanence in there last, with _Maestro_ stalking around - or…

Vegeta's discarded turtleneck hung on the bed's headboard.

Without thinking twice, she snatched it.

\---

She walked out to the room just to step into two bickering men. 

"I said _no_. Tell them we'll serialize the manga elsewhere."

"Are you nuts? Vegeta, it ain't that easy you know? Even if Dragon Square is a bit popular now, behaving like a diva will throw all our efforts _into the trash._ We already live in this fucking dumpster because of you-"

"I fucking know! Nobody asked you, two idiots, to follow me. There's the door." 

The bigger one tried to put a hand on Vegeta's shoulder, but he slapped him away, seething. "Don't you fucking try to pity me Nappa or-"

"Sorry, uh-" she moved a few steps forward, and both of the men shifted their gaze on her form. She felt like an utter idiot now, walking in on them with her _unshaved_ legs peeking from under the oversized black shirt working almost as a dress. Vegeta, she noticed now that she was back to her senses, had really large shoulders. She couldn't help but _lick him_ with her eyes, lured by his compact half-naked chest. There were muscles there, muscles that had lost their fat due to inactivity. She recognized a trained body, half of her friends were Taekwondo freaks, after all.

He stared back at her for a long time. His black gaze was checking her new get-up from head to toe. 

But he broke the spell too soon and frowned.

"Why are you wearing my stuff?"

 _To seduce you, duh._ She'd reply, but it was clear enough that the atmosphere had grown quite uncomfortable and he wasn't in the mood anymore. Well, just _her luck_. "I can't find my shirt and I'm hungry." _In many ways._

"Wanna stay for dinn-?" Nappa commenced.

"No. She goes." Vegeta thwarted him at the onset. 

She felt her teeth screech in her mouth. "I go?" Faking a sputter-laugh, retorted "I'm no slut, boy. I'm your girlfriend."

"Don't decide shit on your own." 

"You knew I liked you and you could have chosen to stop me. But you rutted on me like a dog, _fingered me,_ and almost fucked me. Now you take full responsibility." She walked closer and bopped his nose. "I'm top tier material, boy."

"Well, she's got a point-" Nappa interjected.

"Mind your fucking business. You nosedived deep into my shit, deep enough to have your neck snapped. Don't push your luck." Vegeta warned before whipping his smoldering, angry gaze at her again.

He filled his lungs but then deflated like a shriveling balloon. "I don't have time for relationships." He growled-sighed. 

She quirked a brow at him, but then her gaze was attracted to Nappa, who was shaking up his thumbs and giving her a toothy grin. 

She mouthed, _'is he accepting?'_

"You can fucking _speak to me_. I'm in the room." Vegeta rebuffed, slamming his hand on a nearby counter.

"You know what? It doesn't matter." She just closed the distance between them, latching onto him like a climbing plant. "You know me enough to know what I'm capable of, so you can keep refusing me despite knowing you want me as much, or accept your fate and be my man." She nuzzled her cheek against his, feeling the heat rise under the touch. 

He grabbed her shoulders and put distance between them. "You're a hell of a high maintenance woman. I don't have the time _for that._ "

She clasped his wrists and pulled them over her shoulders, slipping forward to reach him an inch from his face. "Hey, my last husband was a 2D murderer that spent half of his life training in space." She murmured, "do you think I can't deal with some little busy asshole like you? Try me."

The defensive shadow in his gaze suddenly shifted into the nasty playfulness that belonged exclusively to him. His eyes veered for a fraction. "Nappa, turn around." 

The bald man rolled his eyes, muttering a _"he says that after I just saw them making out-"_ but complied.

His arms slithered away from her neck and slipped from her hold. He placed them on her hips and pulled her closer with a snap of the wrist. He chuckled darkly against her mouth, "I'm looking forward to seeing _how long you_ _last_." 

And sealed the challenge with a kiss.

Her head was spinning like a top, however, for some reason, their earlier conversation popped out behind her closed lids. She placed her hands on Vegeta's chest and pushed him back. "Now that I think about it, you were discussing Dragon Square before, right?"

"Yeah." Nappa started. But Vegeta cut in with a sharp "no" instead.

The bald man finally turned to face them again, shrugging. "Since she's in the fam now, I don't see why you should keep it hidden."

"She's not in ' _the fam'._ " She didn't miss Vegeta marking the last word with contempt. "This and that are two entirely different questions."

She had had a hunch about them working together even before snooping in into their conversation. The tip of her finger played with Vegeta's chest hair, her gaze focused on that detail too. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about." She pitched in her excuse, hoping it would work to make them spill the beans. "I know already." She said, raising her eyes to meet Vegeta's.

He was no idiot, she knew that much. Diffidence shone clear in his _sexy,_ penetrant eyes. 

It wasn't him she hoped to set up. 

"No problem then!" Nappa's belly laughs filled the room. He slapped her shoulder. "Maybe we can let her take a peek at some of your drafts. Whatcha say, _Maestro?_ "

When her eyes widened like saucers, Vegeta slapped Nappa's mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're a fucking idiot, Nappa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for her betaing, as usual!
> 
>   
> 


	18. Realistic... as it should be according to her POV

Like in every respectable novel where the author needs a fast change of scene, the next chapter of her life started with _oblivion. Or_ more commonly defined as _fainting_ and not having memories of it. 

_Maestro uses that ruse very often in his manga._ The echo of her voice muttered to herself and a tittering-laugh vibrated in her head like flapping wings. 

Suddenly, the manga she was reading disappeared from her hands. When she looked up, what seemed like the typical ray of car lights hit her straight in the eye. Blinded, she tried to shield her vision as much as possible. When the blistering haze dissipated, a thunder of handclaps filled her body with goosebumps.

A moment later, she was shaking hands with politicians and showbiz's stars. 

_Maestro?_ _Oh yes. Of course, I know him._ She curled her red lips into a coquettish smile. _He's_... As she started, in front of her materialised a bulky, moustached man, who walked towards her and finger gunned at her bosom "Nice tits, nice tits, nice tits, nice tits." He repeated, cyclically, like a broken record. 

_No. That's not him. Maestro is more… less… is…_

"Veget-!" Agitation cut her words, or to better say, her teeth beheaded his name when she bit her tongue, and her forehead had collided with another forehead. The forehead of the same man that had made her faint and that now was cursing her very existence doubled over on the edge of the bed. 

Bed?

Waving her hand at her tongue that was still sticking out, she looked around through the watery screen of tears. The dim, narrow room around her had dull, black walls. And all that black made her feel claustrophobic and made the room look smaller than it was. There was a big screen window and on her right, one that made the city look distant and tiny, as if it had been stuck into a snow globe. 

What attracted her the most though, was the tall showcase that sat enthroned against the bare and largest wall of the room. 

Empty.

"Your room?" She asked, keeping her eyes glued on the peculiar piece of furniture. 

He was still massaging his forehead when a dry "yes" left his lips. 

"What's that? Waiting to fill it with your man…" as the sentence grew more complex, she also started to realize and _remember_ what had transpired before she passed out. Thus, turning _slowly_ toward Vegeta her eyes widened… and her eyebrows flexed like angry branches. " _You son of a bitch!"_ the wood of the bed creaked like a sinister door under her weight. She yanked the top spit of dark fire that was his mane and pulled hard.

"What the fucking Hell is wrong with you?!" He caught her wrist, preventing her from making his receding hairline even more receding. 

"You fucking did it on purpose! The day we met. Revealing that huge spoiler! You did so because you were pissed off at me!"

Vegeta was curved backwards, his head almost resting on her lap. He stared at her, unfazed, "you had sexually harassed me. That was the bare minimum." There was the tiniest hint of childish sarcasm in his voice, and the way his lips twitched upward in an equally immature smirk made her heart jump in her throat. 

"You've been my boyfriend for 0,1 minute and I already want to break up with you." She whispered, not believing a single word. It wasn't her head that told her fingers to loosen in his hair, to card through them and bend forward. 

"Go ahead." He taunted, reclining his head backwards in the crook of her crossed legs. His fingers tightened around her wrist, which stood still where it was, midair. Her mouth found his forehead, and her lips trailed, closed, on the bridge of his nose.

"You're lucky you're my favorite _mangaka._ " Another gust of breath against his mouth. 

He opened it to let her tongue sneak in and tangled it with his own, in and out. She breathed out, lost in the shuffling smacks and wet dabs of when his tongue twisted against her teeth and clicked on them. He had a strong aftertaste of beer mixed with the coppery tang of inner lips when you bite them too hard. And she thought she could even bend like that forever and let her spine break in half if it meant losing herself to the sensation of her skin swarming with want. Or the sound of him swallowing, of his lips catching and biting hers, leaving them all tingly and swollen. Of his breath growing shallow and short…

Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Vegeta, we gotta go."

And fluttered open again, just to catch Vegeta's lids droop with annoyance and his jaw tightening up against her mouth. Which pulled a snarky smile on her lips. "Guess I'll start to collect all the boners I give you from today and onwards." Her shit-eating smirk grew fonder when Vegeta propelled himself away like a cat whose tail had just been stomped on. He walked to his closet and threw it open, presumably scavenging for a shirt. 

She quickly removed the stolen turtleneck and let it swing on her index finger, adjusting her half-naked form on the bed into a more slutty pose. "Don't you want this one?" She queried, charging her voice with mocking seduction. 

As a response, she received her own shirt in the face. "Leave it on the bed," he countered. _What a fucking ass!_ Whilst removing the offending piece of cloth, she spotted his Adam's apple bobbing in the sliver of light that cut slantwise from the floor lamp behind him and his gaze jumping away from her boobs as soon as her gaze was on him again. _And a liar, to boot._

Tossing the turtleneck on the ground, she dropped on her back and proceeded to slip off of her panties. 

Vegeta, who had just turned and about to pull the new shirt on his head, stopped abruptly halfway when her panties flew across the room and landed _in his_ face. 

She waved at him, chin-on-palm and now stark naked. 

"What? It's just a lucky charm to remember me by when you'll be prone on your desk trying to not think about all of _this_ ," she ran a hand on her breast, hips, and ass "while you draw brawny men fighting against each other." 

Vegeta's mouth twitched downward, and as he removed the panties from his face, he also shrugged out of the shirt he was about to wear. With both of them in his hand, he stalked toward the door of his room, and she sighed. 

Half-sighed, in truth. Because the last itch of breath was promptly swallowed back when the _click_ of the door being locked made all her hairs stand up. He turned around in the shadow, leaning his back against the door, and brought her panties to his mouth… in his teeth… and started to rip… them.

 _Looks like I'm going home commando tonight._ _And thank fucks, I took that shower before coming here- did I wash those panties with the right_ softener? _Oh God we're going to fuck and I still didn't shave my legs-_

The weight of his palms on the bed made her brain finally catch up with her body. 

Their eyes locked. 

Both the fangirly and the thirsty sides of her fucking screamed, but she didn't move an inch. Expectation and shame mingled into a cocktail of crazy heartbeats and furious heat. Heat that spread from her chest to her cheeks in the lapse of a nanosecond when his knees sank in the mattress and he stood on them, his dark gaze firm of her like that of a sniper. His fingers worked on his belt, unbuckling it. The leather slapping against his palm, and the clink of the bar touching the ground set her _on fire._

Nappa continued to call his flatmate from the adjacent room, but Vegeta ignored him and unzipped his pants. And that was where she finally _moved_ and sat up, dragging her ass on the covers until her legs dangled from it, trapping Vegeta between them. She put a hand on his and slapped it away whilst the other one rose on the flat of her palm and slithered up on his naked abdomen. The muscles jumped at her touch. He moved his hand and made to grab the panties still in his teeth.

"Don't." She pinched him. "Keep them there. I like that… it's almost as if you're all gagged up." _What the fuck? I mean… he's here, I'm here, and I gag him up? I want him to whisper all of the dirty stuff in the world to me and I tell him to hold onto my damn pants?!_ _Ok. Cock. No teeth. But what if he likes teeth? Maybe a little scraping-- Am I having performance anxiety? Me? Shut the fucking brain off girl. And. Just. F u c k h i m like there's no tomorrow. But he's HIM and not just a him. Like…_ ok let's just get this over with.

She finished unzipping his pants, begging every existing god that the bulge inside those jeans was partly balls and not just length because her pussy was so fucking out of shape that it could definitely _not_ bear a monstrosity in its narrow, narrow path. So it was like _the moment of truth, like opening a saucy mystery box…_

And her eyes closed for a fraction, in a silent prayer to her soon to be dead cunt. _Well, still… nicely done... Vegeta's mom._

Despite the _notable_ _girth_ , feeling him tense all up as she wrapped her fingers around his cock, was rewarding enough to take it all out. She licked her lips and peeked up at him, at his eyes going half-mast and his teeth biting just a little harder on her panties. She smothered the tip of his length, enjoying the slippery sensation of its silky surface. Vegeta let out a grunt, which prompted her to play more, to thumb the ridges of under his cock and squeeze a bit more, all the while bending forward to take it in her mouth. Tangy. 

He hissed and she sat back on her calves, circling her tongue around the crown of the cock, before giving it an experimental suck. And there it came, the infamous _hand_ at the back of her head. He carded his fingers in her hair and breathed like he was holding back. She looked up again. That piece of cloth hadn't been a bad idea after all. The image of Vegeta biting it furiously, of his eyes scrunched shut was rewarding. _Very much so._

She opened her mouth wide and let her tongue swipe down on all his length before placing it in her mouth again and taking in more inches. Squeezing again, her hand finally moved in synch with her mouth, and Vegeta… oh, he was at her total mercy. His pelvis arched against her mouth and he started to grind and _push_ her head further down. She hated gagging. The sound of it and the burning sensation it left in her throat, thus, as a compromise and to distract him from trying to bury himself totally in… she played her trump card. Her mouth slipped away from his cock, but the hand didn't stop its motion, she just bent her head and took one of his balls in her mouth. He might not have expected it, because his hiss now dropped to a low, throaty, and surprised moan. 

His hand moved down fast, on top of hers, to slow down the masturbation. He spat the pants and swallowed, hard. "Enough." He took his cock in his hand and pushed her down, seeking for her mouth and finding it. _Oh lord._ He didn't bother to seek more preliminaries, his free hand went immediately down between her legs, and his fingers dipped in her cunt so eagerly that she yelped, fastening her arms around his neck and spreading her legs wide. "Vegeta…" she whispered, while his mouth wandered closer to her neck, suckling it. "Vegeta, do you have condoms?"

He froze.

And she felt his forehead against her shoulder a moment later. "Motherfucking goddamned rotten **Hell."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake for the betaing ❤️


	19. Fantastic... as it should be according to his POV

"Bummer. Oh, well…" Her voice ran through _his_ ribcage in a complacent thrum, a purr of sorts that sent a jolt of atavic need right into his groin. His cock swelled harder against her thigh, and she wrapped her hand around it again, firmly, stroking and thumbing and making his back arch forward. A sharp inhale and his forehead slipped on its sweat in the crook of her neck, and he turned completely towards it to seize the flesh of it in his teeth; grazing with the tip of his tongue the thrumming pulse beneath. 

Whatever it was that made him rut and buckle in her palm like an insentient being would probably start to sting just later, in the aftermath. Right now, his topmost target was unbridled satisfaction, a primal need that throbbed hard in his veins and chest and made him everything he hadn't been in too long.

His abdomen spasmed at each stroke, and suppressed grunts rumbled in his chest and throat whilst his teeth sank in that woman's neck like snake fangs. It wasn't too long before, benumbed by wretched want, he grabbed her hips and hauled her up; legs thrown on his biceps, forcing the hand around his cock to slip away... Fuck. Damp curls tickled at his nose, and as the strong scent of her arousal invaded his nostrils, he opened his mouth, whole, to take her cunt in his mouth. Under his tongue, her clit twitched as she writhed and wiggled, moaning his name in a crescendo of hiccupped short breaths. The more his tongue twirled around the hardening clit, the more she tried to squirm away from the contact. 

He secured her against his mouth, cupping her ass and digging his fingers in the plump flesh. 

"Oh, sh… oh, yes, _there...th-ther…"_ she threw a hand between her legs, tugging at her pussy to keep the flaps open for him to probe further. He complied, sucking on her clitoris until her moans became uncomfortable shrieks. Everything convoluted around her body twisting under his, her pitch growing higher among groans, nails scraping at his arm, and strings of nonsensical words begging him to stop and go on at the same time. They made his cock ache and his chest jerk with the wild bass of his heartbeat. A thrum that had never been so _furious_. 

One of his hands detached from her buttock to travel fast on the unblemished, sweaty skin of her arching front, reaching one of her breasts and twisting the nipple between his fingers. His eyes followed, spellbound, her gaze meeting his, heavy-lidded and glazed. He felt both of her legs circle in a tight vise around his neck, pushing his head to dip forward even more. His tongue flickered fast on the tip of her clit and she moved according to that pace, gyrating her pelvis in slow circular movements. He swallowed, swallowed hard and his breathing broke in his throat when she cupped both her breasts - one hand on top of his - and squeezed them together under her chin. And if that didn't fucking make him unload right there yet was just because he _craved_ for her touch. 

Teasing, she flicked her tongue on the curve of her breast, spitting right in between. He followed, with bated breath, the path of the saliva… and the way it ran down her sternum, glistening like a spiderweb. "You want it?" She whispered, one finger circling a hard nipple. "Y-you want to come right here… Vegeta?" 

He was breaking. Breaking like the most fucking friable alloy, and goddammit if that thought didn't irk him. His cock twitched, and his balls tightened hard, hurting, warning that he was at his limit and he _could_ not and _won't_ let her undo him _like that._ Without touching him. 

"I'm c...I'm… don't stop yet," her jaw hardened, and she practically hissed her orgasm through her teeth, head careening and tensing backward in the pillow. And he felt it, in his mouth, as the twitching became convulsed. He trailed away, kissing her inner thigh and sliding forward. She let her weakened legs fall on the sides and fall on the mattress, and stayed there, breathing hard and looking at him with a contented sigh, before beckoning him with a flick of her index finger. 

"Pants off, Mister," she dragged her ass on the sheets and sat, and as he pushed down and kicked away the constricting jeans, one of her hands slithered on his buttock, squeezing hard. Breathing had become a task rather than an automatic process. His lungs were on fire, and the hot, scalding puffs condensed in the coldness of the room, even more, when she jerked her chin to her breasts.

"Come here." He didn't register if that was an invitation or a command, but he didn't give a rat's ass anymore. He took his tensed cock and crawled closer on his knees. She bit her lower lip, and his mouth parted. As he let his length slide between her breasts, she squeezed them against his flesh. Unconstrained, he exhaled a satisfied groan, bending his head backward and grabbing a fistful of her short, damp hair. The angle of her head tilted slantwise so that at every thrust, her mouth would take his cock and suck. A riotous need to rut quivered through him and flooded out, hot, pushing him to roll his hips and freeing his restrained lips from the string of curses he had held back until that moment. 

It was frightening how that witch seemed to know what he wanted and how he wanted it, to take his cock in her mouth at the right angle, in a way that made the muscles in his back… No…in his whole body twist and harden. It was a degree of shame he wouldn't have taken if circumstances had been different if in her place had been another woman. Control. The lack of would have tilted the axes of his world and pride into a spiral of self-destruction. But her game allowed him to feel control even though he knew to a fault there was none. It had slipped away at the moment she had reached out to him the first time. Alighting a curiosity he thought he didn't possess. And now, now being in her mouth and squeezed tight in between her breasts, felt like hitting the bottom of the barrel just to resurface again, empowered. He glided in and out faster, and faster, the squelching of his precum, the smell of her consumed orgasm arousing his every sense until it felt too much.

And he ground his teeth so hard that they screeched when the climax pented-up, strong and hard, tightening his balls and gushing on her lolling, slack tongue, and on her breasts. He licked his lips, riding the wave among jolts and his voice gurgling low in his chest. 

Just when the aftershocks ceased, he returned his gaze on her, dark with satisfaction. She stared back - breathing hard, completely undone and licking away the smudges of his cum from the crown of his cock. In that split second, she looked _astounding._

\---

"Hey, _Mr. Kleptomaniac_. Did you just casually pocket my panties as if they were a war loot?" 

"No." He responded, sarcastically, as he smothered a wild bang back on his forehead- the ghost of a curl playing on his dry lips. 

"You're so goddamn smug right now that I'd gladly throw a shoe at you. You ripped them. I demand a reimbursement." He eyed her through the mirror in front of him, catching her nude silhouette stretching on his bed. She stood and walked closer, wrapping her clutches around his waist. "How 'bout I wear something of yours in exchange?" Her head popped above his shoulder whilst she lavished his shoulders with chin rubs. 

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, giving up on taming the fucking strand. "Make it fast, though. I have to go." It was enough that Nappa wouldn’t make him live a second of his future, jinxed life without rubbing this day in his face; wasting any more time was thus out of the question. The woman disappeared as she came, and he heard her trafficking in his closet as if it was her own. 

"Don't you have a color not verging on doomsday among your clothing? Like, boy, your whole wardrobe screams _undertaker_ from pants to shirts." 

"This isn't a shop. Just pick a fucking underwear and scram from this room." 

"Fine, but just so you know, your wardrobe is sad like your porn." She pointed out, wiggling her ass into a pair of boxers. "And what you mean with 'scram'? I still didn't see your _drafts."_

Vegeta's nose twitched, and he fought hard to repel the hot heat threatening to creep up on his neck, "I think you saw _enough_." 

"Well," she jumped on the spot now, trying to get in her shoes. "Fair enough. Next time though… you're going to let me watch you draw." 

It was absurd that he had become _incapable_ of ungluing his gaze from her. Just a couple of hours ago, they were on the street walking on opposite sides like repelling magnets. When had he become so easily pliable? "That's out of the question." The finality in his words accompanied the harsh flipping of the lapels of his coat. 

"Wait, why not?" She reached him again and planted herself before him, foot tapping on the ground and a bomb of wild blue curls defying gravity almost as much as his own. 

"Because you're a crazy, walking sitcom. Plus, if you set foot in my studio, nobody will get their work done."

"Can I come to your studio?! I thought… I mean, I thought about something more somber like staying here in your room but-"

He raised an unwavering hand between him and her rigmarole. "No." 

"You know that I can easily turn your 'nos' into 'yesses' right?" With what seemed practiced nonchalance, she batted his hand away, and took hold of the lapels of his coat to pull him towards her. 

He planted a noncommittal kiss on her lips and slipped away. "That's what I make you believe." 

The lopsided smile she gave him was bordering on mockery. "Whatever floats your boat, honey. And...uh…" she moved to her purse, producing her smartphone. "Since we _almost_ fucked, again, I say we can be a little wild and upgrade our relationship… and you can…" she trailed off, adding, fake and unnecessary suspense. "Give me your number!" 

"And have you assault my hotline at every hour? Denied." 

"Every hour? Who do you take me for? I'm a pro. Every minute at best. Okay, ‘nuff said, I'll serve myself." Without even waiting for a response, she took his phone from the nightstand and pounded in her number, called herself, and registered his own in a matter of seconds. He didn't even move from his spot, simply opening his hand on his palm to let her drop the device on it.

"Now get your ass out of here. I'll get you…"

"A taxi? Nope. Walking home. I don't want to feel like a slut, thank y-"

"Home. Let me fucking finish a sentence." He grumbled, walking past her and finally out of the room.

"Daww. Aren't you the sweetest chauvinistic asshole in the world?" She grabbed his arm, but before they could _finally_ leave that goddamn apartment, her phone rang.

She mouthed something he didn't get, and he seethed, starting to regret having agreed to this psychopathic relationship. 

"No, I swear I didn't block you Krillin. I just had… will you let me. Yes! I'm sorry, okay? I'll be there! There are still a couple of days anyw- Ok. I swear that I'll come to... wait…" 

A shudder traversed his spine like a bad omen when she glanced at him and said, "Add another seat too, I'll bring a guest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake and Rogue_1102 for being my wingwomen in this chapter ❤️


	20. Love: aka the slow and painful deterioration of your cognitive system

Her synapses were blasting the epic soundtrack of her life at full force, something akin to _Eye of the Tiger_ mixed with _She's a Maniac_ \- whilst her eyes scurried soldierly on the heap of outfits scattered on her bed. While one hand ripped away the waxed strip from one of her legs, the other shuffled the various garments like a croupier would cards. 

It wasn't for Vegeta that she was putting her leg hairs at stake, but for herself. For once, _finally_ , in her wretched collection of failed Christmas parties, she could claim her golden seat at the table _of_ the _Valhalla of couples._ Perhaps, it was childish of a woman in her thirties to be so hung up on a mere friend reunion. She didn't care, though. It represented the prime form of detoxification for her social anxiety. And she was so giddy that her head spun around like a carousel, lulling her with an overdose of dopamine that she hadn't felt in ages.

She wiggled her ass at the rhythm of invisible music as her phone chimed with upcoming notifications. Ah, it was like being a teenager all over again. Spinning on her heels, she dove on her belly and bunched the mattress to grab the phone on her nightstand, and the clothes around her fluttered in the air like exotic veils before settling haphazardly on the floor. 

_You have_ 3 _unread messages_

> _**Vegeta** : stop tagging the manga account on your fucking ships. _
> 
> _**Vegeta** : And no. I won't come to your stupid social gathering. _
> 
> _**Vegeta** : delete my number._

After their sexual rendezvous, she had completely forgotten how _virtual_ _Vegeta_ could be like a stiletto heel in the butthole. It was like he found sinister delight in pouring all his _sociopathic nihilism_ on a keyboard. However, she was too high on her personal cloud to mind his jabbering. Jabbering she found as irritating as a feral kitten hissing at its first human contact. Swinging her legs back and forth, she composed a new message with the broadest of smiles on her lips. 

_"I will stop the tagging when Panty and Herb are canon. So, not anytime soon."_ Before sending out the message, she tapped her finger on the screen of the phone. _"You're free to not come to the party. I’ll go with Nappa instead."_

Satisfied with her gameplay, she tapped the send button and rolled on her back. Punched some new lines of text in a new message and delivered that one too.

Now, it was just a matter of minutes…

Minutes she half spent throwing a whole drawer of old panties in the trash can. Ordering the sexiest lingerie on the market online and half fantasizing about her _perfect_ Christmas Eve night. Which was evidently just a fantasy because in her head Vegeta morphed into some laughable, sugary caricature of himself, clothed like a cheap butler that showered her in more I love yous than she ever received in her whole life. Maybe some side of her still lived in that romantic, saccharine world that existed just in cinematic comedies and puerile dreams, where the perfect man is a yes man that lives to satisfy your every need and care. 

More like a _servant,_ actually. She had stopped being picky when the men she fell for in the past started to show the same, inevitable symptoms, sooner or later. They cheated, or got fed up with her brazen, demanding personality. And whilst she hated all of them, she also _understood_ that at some point, on the road, she had been the one that had spooked them away. A gracious face doesn't compensate for a crappy character. 

Vegeta was, for all intent and purposes, the kind of man she'd never, ever date had he not been the carbon copy of his own invention, and she wasn't besotted with Herb. He was leagues away from her standards of _beauty._ As well as certainly, he wouldn't have given her a chance either, if she hadn't literally forced her way into his life. Because… it was clear as the day that _the fangirl type_ was a recurring constant in his life that he loathed; as much as he loathed the iconic character wherefrom stemmed the hype. 

It had been a hit or miss curveball that she pitched immediately after sensing how good it was to be _just herself_ with him. Also, _real-orgasm, ladies and gentlemen._ R-e-a-l orgasm with just his mouth? Where the fuck would she ever find another man able to give her _that?_ She was _again_ a poor, besotted bastard with all the ailments that came from being in love. 

A new message interrupted her train of thoughts. It was from Nappa. But before she could make it to the texting app, her phone started to ring _._

She didn't even bother to read the name blinking on the display because she was a thousand percent sure who the call came from.

"You're a fucking bitch." His _casual_ greeting made her laugh out loud. 

"Coming from you, that's high praise." She tutted, palming at the length of her smooth, as-a-baby-ass leg. "You don't sound very happy. Any problem?" 

"My assistants, _all seven of them,_ are refusing to come to work on Christmas Eve. What the Hell did you say to Nappa?" 

"Mmm, just that if he was able to convince you to come, I'd provide babes and booze for all the crew." 

She heard him curse under his breath and the distinct slap of the wind. "Where are you Vegeta? You're not going to jump off of a skyscraper just because I slightly curbed your schedule to meet mine, right?"

"No. But I'm very tempted to shove you from the same height. I thought I had been clear about-"

"Not having time for a relationship. I know. I won't take all of your evening… a couple of hours will be enough. We go, say hi, and maybe continue what we started at your apartment in some dark, narrow hallway when we go back?" 

"... That's it?"

She literally _squealed_ at that, hugged the phone like an idiot, and curled on herself like a happy larva. When she found her composure again, she cleared her voice. "Are you disappointed?"

"No." He deadpanned, "W… why should I be?" 

“Mmm, I don’t know…” she curled a tuft of hair around her finger, “maybe because contrary to what your macho-man pride lets you believe, you want to spend time with me.” She deliberately stated it, so maybe the thought, even a little curl of it, would sink into his mind as truth. 

He didn’t respond, which made it more than clear that he just could not deny that in the end, she was right. And that made all of her body tingle with the need to run wherever he was and jump him, be it even in the middle of the street. A thought that started to solidify in her mind as the seconds passed until it morphed into a full-fledged question. “Vegeta… can I come over for a bit?”

“Don’t even dream of it.” 

“Oh come on, don’t be a scrooge. Just five minutes?”

“Not even one.”

“Three minutes?”

“Are you a fucking kid?”

“One minute and a half and I’ll come commando.”

She heard him choke on his saliva on the other side of the receiver, a sign that the commando part maybe had sorted some positive effect somewhere, if not on his lungs, at least somewhere more south.

“How long are you going to insist if I say no once again?”

“A couple of hours, then I’ll probably let it go and drown my sorrow into alcohol until my liver implodes. After that, I’ll turn into a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Five minutes sound better than the rest of my life. You can come… if you find the place.” He hung up on her and her smile faded into a frown.

\---

She’d had to ask Nappa where to find the studio since _Mr. Idenymyfeels_ liked the ball in his court a bit too much. When she reached the top floor of the complex, her tongue was lolling out, and her legs felt blocks of concrete. 

_Who in the world rents an office on the fifteenth floor of an elevator-less building?_ Evidently, people that weren't as out of shape as she was. As soon as she retrieved the energy she had lost during the ascent, another problem arose right in front of her disbelieving eyes. All the apartments on the catwalk were absolutely _identical_. Not a single wreath hung by the door, not a shred of indication that could single out the studio from a common flat. 

Nappa had been vague at best, and he had slapped a link with indications in the chat with no additional detail about the number or the direction of the room. Good. She palmed frantically at her sides and pulled out her phone that blinked shut immediately after its retrieval. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She shook the device as if the wild motion of her arm could somehow reanimate it. But nope. Dead. Rip. Gone.

"Oh well…" she shrugged, "needs must when the devil drives." The dramatic lungful of air she took in tumbled out of her chest immediately after.

" **Vegeta!** **Vegeta**! **Vegeta**! **Vegeta**!"

A couple of doors creaked open, and she even heard someone threatening to call the police; just at long last, her arm was yanked away brusquely, and she was pulled into a room and… _smeared_ against the door like butter on bread. Vegeta's palms slammed against the door and too close to her eardrums. His face was so red and the veins on his forehead so full of blood that if he didn't burst a vessel now, it would never happen again.

"Are you out of your fuckin-"

His rage deflated in her mouth when she grabbed his face and pulled him into a wet, loud kiss, making him go slack and pliant as fast as he had pulled her into the apartment. 

Just when a long whistle at their back warned that they were indeed not alone, did he pull back, looking as scandalized as her when she used to read his porn.

"Don't you dare." She cautioned low, when he made to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Yo, Bulma. Nice lungs." Nappa strolled in on them casually, pretending he hadn't just seen his coworker's lips basically vacuumed in her mouth. 

"Can't say the same of your touristic abilities. Next time you could nicely add which door is the right one." 

That was when she noticed a third figure approaching them, who wiggled his dark bushy brows and whistled suggestively at her. "When Nappa said you were a nice catch, I didn't believe him, but you are indeed eye candy, _Galickkamehameha._ " The tall, long-haired man twisted his arm around Vegeta's neck, "and this guy owes everything to me. Name's Raditz, anyway." 

Whilst Vegeta elbowed the taller man in the ribs and turned away like a sizzling prima donna. She eyed Raditz curiously, his features reminiscent of someone she couldn't quite place yet. 

"Did we… meet somewhere?" She tilted her head, rubbing her chin. 

"In Dragon Square, probably." He winked, rubbing the spot where Vegeta had hit him. "It's probably the Herb effect, you see…" without beating around the bush, he looped his arm around her waist like the smoothest operator, "We designed him to resemble the three of us. Gave 'im my height, Vegeta's face, and Nappa's bulk. Was supposed to be a joke, y'know, I drew him for fun… but Nappa liked him so much that decided to use him without warn-"

"Raditz." Vegeta's edged timbre cut in cold and poised, which made her shiver from head to toe. Whatever question was gripping in her throat, Bulma just swallowed it down. 

They passed the short hall to immediately set foot in the studio, where a large and long table sat at the very center of the spacious, spotless room. Thousand and thousand drafts and sketches littered the otherwise immaculate walls with various manga scenes, discarded storyboards, and character sheets. The general lights were dimmed to allow the various table lamps to shine brighly upon the respective worktables.

Four heads perked from where they were laboriously tilted to steal curious glances at the new intruder. She waved her hand less enthusiastically and more nervous than she had predicted. Hell, she wasn't feeling a shred of the excitement she should have felt. Probably it was because all of her attention was drawn by Vegeta. Outside, it was easy - if not for his unmistakable features - to lose him in a surfing crowd of people. But here, in his kingdom, all the light in the room seemed to gather to him to make him shine bright. He sat behind a different worktable, the only one equipped with a computer, crossed his legs, and reclined in his swivel chair like a mafia boss. Tipped his head forward and pushed the rim of his - fucking sexy - glasses on his nose. 

Just when he noticed her insistent stare, did his dark eyes turn to her again. Reflectively, she moved toward him, and without uttering a word, sat on his lap. 

He stiffened, but surprisingly enough, didn't push her away. Instead, he glared at his co-workers. "Less staring, more scribbling." 

"You're giving me more freedom than I expected. Are you high on Xanax?" She queried, a teasing curl slipping on her lips. 

"Nah, he's high on asserting his dominance on us." Raditz quipped sardonically, taking place next to Nappa. "Now he's virtually peeing everywhere and showing off how cool he is. Might not seem like one, but Vegeta is a fucking showo- ouch!"

It looked like Vegeta had no problems throwing blunt objects as long as they hit their target and _hurt._ And the T-square that centered Raditz on the head with his sharpest angle made Bulma wince empathically. 

Raditz grimaced "and then dies of second-hand embarrassment when someone makes him _notice._ " He yelled, purposely, with a satisfied smirk before getting back to work.

Vegeta merely faced the computer, feigning that his face wasn't drawing color with the same rapidity of a whistling pot. "You're such a caveman…" she commented, tersely and totally nonplussed. 

He didn't look at her, just groused a "get a seat and let me work" in the palm of his hand, trying to ferociously hide how much Raditz’s words had ruffled his feathers. 

"Fine." She raised a brow suggestively and, halfway from getting up, threw a fast glance at the room. "And... Vegeta…?" 

He looked at her askance, his eyes widening imperceptibly to underline to make it quick. 

She pinched the side of her skirt and lifted it up along the curve of black high-knee socks until it grazed the line of her pelvis. _"I held up my end._ "

Vegeta swallowed and seemed to _struggle_ to avert his gaze again. Notwithstanding, the corner of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly. "Try to keep _mine_ down for at least another hour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthie for the beta 💕


End file.
